#all the people around me never made it up

[consultingfujoshi]

yknow I was never gonna like fields I was always gonna root for irving to wreck that marriage but finding out he's a religious zealot who projects his own insecurities about sin and going to hell onto his husband to the extent he signed off on his getting a lobotomy just so there would be a version of him that could keep him company in heaven only made me more in favour of old man infidelity

like I went into this episode fully expecting fields to be the classic jealous husband who doesn't really get that the innies are different people and his husband is not responsible for whatever his innie might have done with another person and that would have even been understandable if not frustrating and I expected irving and burt to bond over how fields doesn't really get it and they're the only ones who understand how this feels and somehow fields being fine with the idea of him having an affair is even worse because it means the troubles in their marriage doesn't come from a mistrust of burt's faithfulness to him, it comes from a fundamental lack of faith in burt's soul. to him burt's innie falling in love is just affirmation that there's a version of him more deserving of eternal happiness than the one he's literally married to

not once was any sense of anger directed towards irving as I expected, it all lies within this idea that burt has to redeem himself to be worthy of fields. and how the hell does burt make peace with that especially now knowing that the version of himself that didn't know fields existed fell for another man, having no knowledge of the real reason he was there in the first place and instead seeking out his own purpose and sense of fulfilment, in effect having a level of freedom that burt himself does not? knowing he didn't really have to centre his entire life's purpose around pleasing his husband and god?

finally getting to know outie irving a little and discovering he's just as awkward and easily flustered as if not more so than his innie and how hard he tried to get on fields' good side, wearing a nice shirt and bringing expensive wine and laughing nervously at his jokes trying to prove he's not a threat, and then discovering this isn't actually about him at all and this marriage was already broken beyond repair, religious trauma opening up a fault line between them that led to irving being seated at this table in the first place, and how he has no idea what his innie saw in burt as fields says but he's struck with such a profound sense of sadness now that it's gone

finding out burt believes both of their innies are in heaven together and he doesn't know it but his innie believed the same was possible. because he was trapped in a religious cage of his own making just as burt is, and he doesn't know it but burt freed him from that, and he could do the same for burt. shyly suggesting they meet on their own terms without anyone hanging over them, be it lumon or fields or god himself. because he likes him. because he had fun tonight. because he can see burt is ultimately just as lonely as him and just as in need of something real and uncomplicated. something that's just for them

so in short i support that old man's rights to cheat on his husband with the gorgeous controversially younger italian american guy with the mustache who nearly broke down his front door two weeks ago. for totally narrative purposes of course

[aakaneeee]

Love is presented in many ways throughout Alien Stage: For Mizi and Sua, it's codependent, romantic to a worrying extent. For Ivan and Till, it's one sided, unrequited, and painful.

And for Hyuna and Luka, it's a curse.

Not only a curse, but one that haunts them. Jacob once told Hyuna to "Forgive yourself", which, to her, was misplaced. She could have forgiven herself. It was Luka who she couldn't forgive. But, in the end, she couldn't fulfill the legacy. She couldn't forgive herself for loving Luka. She couldn't forgive Luka for killing who she loved. And so, what did she do? She passed on the legacy.

The words "Forgive yourself" didn't help her. They built who she was, but in the worst possible way. She couldn't take his words, because she didn't consider herself the culprit, but the one she resented.

She told this curse, "Forgive yourself" again. She told them to Luka, sentence that almost sounded mocking on her lips. She couldn't have died before because she had to keep moving forward, but now, the pressure wasn't on her shoulders anymore.

She loves Luka, of course she does. But she cannot possibly forgive him. She knows he doesn't realize the suffering he inflicts. It's ironic, he's so unbearably smart, solving puzzles in a matter of seconds, but he doesn't know how to take in the real world, and the feelings of the ones around him, the most important 'puzzle' of them all. So, she gives him the biggest dilemma of his life. It's harsh, cruel, messed up in every sense. It's the puzzle she knew he could never solve, because she herself, who knew humanity, couldn't. Hyuna knew Luka loved her more than himself. And Hyuna cared for Hyunwoo more than for herself. Luka killed Hyunwoo, and so, Hyuna repaid him with the same coin, an eye for an eye. With an act that is the ultimate sacrifice, and the ultimate revenge.

As I have said, Hyuna knew the love he had for her, beyond the limits of his own body. She must've known how much her act would destroy his world: a fate worse than death. Her kind tone, telling him to take as much time as he needs to solve the newfound question she has proposed in such an ugly way, appears almost taunting.

And the way she holds him in her arms, purposefully close, and looks into his eyes, makes it just so much more painful. And yet, when she speaks her soul, passes everything she was carrying on her shoulders, over to him, her face is hidden away, buried in his shoulder. She's free. She finally had her revenge. She can forgive him, and then herself, even though the price was destroying him, without building him up again. Leaving him like pieces of a puzzle that never got solved. She's been cruelly betrayed, and she, even more cruelly, fed him his own medicine.

Hyuna is haunted by both Hyunwoo and Luka, similar to how Mizi is haunted by Sua. Hyunwoo brings the horror aspect: the bloodied blouse and head, while Luka has the smile that Sua has in the imaginations. The two people she loved most: the one who couldn't forgive her because she didn't get to apologize, and the one she didn't forgive. It's all so incredibly complex: she hates and loves, she resents and adores. Hyuna can't pick anymore. We're shown that she's such an active person, sociable, loving, having a whole group of humans just like her, and yet, we're told that she thinks all of them are selfish, even if they seem altruistic. She doesn't trust them, it seems it's a facade. In this, Luka and Hyuna are similar, but divided by the fact he wants to conceal his emotions, and she wants to make them more visible.

This page, specifically, made me click MiziSua and HyuLuka together. They look scarily alike. The same lovey-dovey expression, versus the distressed one of the lover, even the slight glow that Luka has is similar. I think this is meant to show that they still depend on each other, despite the fact that Hyuna seems to resent him so much.

Hyuna says Luka doesn't know the meaning of love. That the only thing he's ever shown, the only thing he genuinely knows, is suffering, and that his abilities basically stop at inflicting the same. (At least, emotional ones.) This is a parallel to Ivan, in my opinion, who didn't know love either, but he liked the idea of it. Instead, Luka loved with everything he had, even though he had no idea what it truly was. His love is obsessive, and somehow, so impossibly innocent at the same time. Because in a way, he's still a child. When he sees Hyuna, he becomes immature again, his facade of control dissipating into thin air. He mocked Mizi for her inability, but he's even worse.

According to his ear monitor, his heart was beating out of his chest. He could hear his own erratic heartbeat. It's painful, how happy he was, how excited, to be in her arms again. And yet, despite the love, the embrace was just as much of revenge.

Ever since Wiege, we've seen Luka smile so much. Just for him to never truly smile again.

I am a fan of the gentleness that Hyuna treats young Luka with. She seems awfully attached to the image of that innocence she knew. But it's not like Mizi's idea of Sua, the perfect one. It's an image she can't bear seeing again. "I couldn't stand seeing myself on those posters, because I knew exactly the face the you'd have. Yes, I bet you were smiling ear to ear." We've only seen him like this for the first time, but to her, it was so familiar, even years apart, she still knew.

Another thing I have noticed is that Hyunwoo's grave is right infront of a tree, almost separated from the others, just the way Luka was sitting before Hyuna found him. Now, this time, Hyunwoo lost Hyuna, and he's forever forced to be lonely in the garden he'll never grow out of.

Hyuna wanted to give Luka a rubik's cube he wouldn't be able to solve, something difficult. A rubik's cube can represent human nature, who Luka seems to have mastered completely. But Hyuna finally manages to postpone him: the puzzle is herself.

And in the end, after Hyuna's body goes limp, he finally manages to take her in his arms. He promised that there, she'd be safe, but he didn't manage to keep her that way. And suddenly, the words "My Savior" from Ruler of my Heart are awfully true.

[promiscuousg1rl]

how not to — rafe cameron

rafe cameron x pogue!reader

summary: you and rafe are over, you've been over. and although he was the one who chose to end your relationship, he's also the one who can't seem to leave you alone and let the relationship go.

note: this is based off the song how not to by dan & shay!

You should be used to seeing him by now. Wheezie has been taking ballet classes at this studio for almost a year now and you are one of her instructors after all.

But for the last two months she was always coming in with her older brother in tow instead of her parents, claiming that Rafe had gotten stuck standing in as "dance brother" because they couldn't make it.

You believed it at first. You knew Mr. and Mrs. Cameron were busy people and work related responsibilities came up a lot. However when Wheezie got into her talkative moods and expressed how glad she was that Rafe offered to be her permanent chauffeur, you became skeptical.

Now you knew Rafe loved his little sister to pieces but if there was one thing he was never willing to do? It was sitting up at a dance studio surrounded by a bunch of middle-aged women bragging about theirs daughter's grand jeté being better than everyone else's.

And yet here he is, walking Wheezie in with a smile so big it made the skin around his eyes crinkle.

"Hey y/n!" Wheezie wears an identical smile to Rafe's, fully prepared for class in her light pink leotard and tights.

You stand up from the receptionist desk. "Hi wheezie," you reply. "Today we're going to be in studio B, go ahead and put your things in your locker."

She gives you an eager nod before skipping past you and to the back.

As soon as she's out of your line of sight you sit back down and do your best to make yourself look busy. A part of you hopes he'll choose to leave but as he continues to stare down at you from the other side of the desk, you know its wishful thinking.

"So," he says with that usual drawl to his voice. "How've you been?"

You still before slowly glancing up at him. You despise how good he looks in his backwards-facing baseball hat and Carolina blue UNC t-shirt. Did he somehow get beefier in the last few weeks?

"Uh, I've been good Rafe," you mutter. "How about you?"

Propping his arms atop of the counter, large biceps bulging beneath the hem of his short sleeves, he shrugs. " 'Been hanging in there."

You nod.

It was bizarre to think about how much a break up can change things. This was someone whose ear you used to talk off 24/7. He was a best friend to you before a lover and the one person you told everything to. That was all over now; you're nothing more than two strangers engaging in a boring conversation.

As much is it hurt you, you had to remember that it was his doing. It was his decision to end things with you after two years together.

"I must've missed you at Sarah's party the other night."

You wonder if he actually thinks this whole naive facade will work on you. Especially since you're more than sure that he was fully aware that you declined Sarah's invitation and why you declined it in the first place.

It was him; the reason why you refuse to step foot on Tannyhill. Even when Rose begged you to give Wheezie private lessons on the estate, you politely said no. You just couldn't do it. It was hard enough living in the same town and trying to avoid him; and the only reason you were able to was because of your differing tax brackets.

You were a pogue and after the break up you couldn't help but thank your lucky stars that you resided on the Cut.

Work was also something you looked forward to because him dropping off and picking up Wheezie was rare.

Or at least, it used to be.

"No you didn't," you give him a blank stare. "I didn't go."

"Because of me?"

You sigh. "Rafe..."

You rise from your seat and go to make your way towards the studios. The sight of you leaving practically sends him into a panic, he rounds the desk and softly grabs your sweater-covered wrist in his hand.

"Look you don't have to do that okay?" His face is pinched with guilt. "You don't have to avoid me o-or stop hanging out with my sister because—"

Your scoffs cuts him off and he furrows his brows in confusion.

That expression alone has your skin getting hot. Is he serious?

"Did you not tell me, verbatim, to "get the hell out of your life" and that you were tired of being smothered by me? Are those not the words that came out of your mouth?"

Rafe combs a hand through his hair. "I...yes okay I said some shitty things but it was just that, bullshit. I didn't mean any of it, alright?"

You glare up at him, yanking your arm from his grasp. "And here we go with the excuses."

"It's not an excuse, y/n. I was fucked up because of all that shit going on with the guys, I took it out on you—"

"Like always," You shake your head. "You let them get into your head, and like always, I became collateral damage. It was fuck my feelings as long as," you take a quick glance around, bringing your voice down to a whisper. "Topper and Kelce gave you the validation you were looking for."

Rafe looks down in shame, swallowing hard.

You thought he was past that stage in his life, caring what people thought of him and your relationship. Apparently you were wrong.

"I just don't get it," you feel stupid as tears well up in your eyes. "If I wasn't good enough for you to choose me, then why can't you just leave me alone?"

“I made a mistake yn,” Rafe shuffles in place, working up the courage to meet your eyes again. He regrets it as soon as he takes in the tears in yours eyes. He hates himself for making you cry, it makes him think of the promise he broke. The one where he said he’d never hurt you and couldn’t imagine ever doing so. But he was a destructive bastard who was only capable of breaking things; hurting those closest to him. It was in his nature.

And yet, despite being fully aware of who he was and everything he was capable of, he couldn’t find it in himself to let you go. Not when he still thinks about every minute of everyday. Yeah it was contradicting; he made his choice and he should be the one who’s strong enough to walk away and move on. However the thought of you no longer being in his life terrifies him more than anything else.

 “I just wanna fix it.”

“You can’t,” You say, turning away from him. “So please, let this go. Let me go.”

[babsworlds]

THE ALCHEMY.

pairing. Pedro Pascal x younger! wife! reader

synopsis. “Where’s the trophy? He just comes running over to me.” — Pedro wins the 30th SAG Awards.

warnings. mention of age gap (late 20s/late 40s), just fluff, real people fic, Timothée is THE Timothée, based on song The Alchemy by Taylor Swift.

babs’ note: this is officially my first pedro fic<3 since my obsession over this man is unreal I’m starting to write him too but atj is still my main man!

TODAY WAS A DAY YOU HAD BEEN LOOKING FORWARD FOR MONTHS. Hosting the 30th SAG Awards with your very good actor friend Timothée was already thrilling, but the fact that your husband, Pedro, was nominated in one of the many categories made the whole day even more exciting.

The red carpet was a dazzling sight, teeming with your celebrity friends, all dressed to impress. Timothée's humor and charm made the event even more enjoyable, and the two of you shared many laughs as you made your way through the evening.

You had already hosted and commented on many categories during the ceremony, and you were thoroughly enjoying yourself. Each winner's reaction was unique and heartfelt, creating moments that were unforgettable. Whether it was tears of joy, expressions of shock, or grateful speeches, every victory added to the magic of the night.

Now it was time to announce the winner of Male Actor in a Drama Series, the category Pedro was nominated for. Your heart beat like never before, the chance of your husband winning was thrilling.

As you stood on the stage alongside Timothée, close to the microphone, you waited for the room full of people to calm down. The anticipation in the air was palpable, and you could feel the energy of the audience buzzing around you. You couldn't help but steal glances at Pedro, who was smiling at you like a crazy, proud husband. His excitement mirrored your own, and it made your heart swell with love and pride.

Timothée gave you a reassuring nod, and together, you both prepared to announce the nominees. The screen behind you lit up with clips of the talented actors in their respective roles, each one deserving of recognition.

You took a deep breath, your hands slightly trembling with anticipation. As Timothée began to read the nominees' names, you focused on maintaining your composure, though your mind was racing with hope.

As you stood on the stage alongside Timothée, close to the microphone, waiting for the room full of people to calm down, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Pedro, who was smiling at you like a crazy.

Timothée, ever the supportive friend, sensed the significance of the moment and handed you the envelope with the winner's name, knowing how much this category meant to you.

Your heart raced as you slowly opened the envelope, your hands trembling with a mix of excitement and nervousness. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, and shared one last look with Pedro in the audience before finally looking at the winner's name. The room seemed to hold its breath as the paper unfolded in your hands.

“And the actor goes to…” Timothée spoke, drawing out the suspense as you opened the bent paper.

On the paper, written in bold letters, was your husband’s name.

You tried to maintain a composed demeanor, but your happiness was evident as the corner of your lips turned into a smile. You shared a look with Timothée, and in a playful tone, you teased everyone in the room, especially the nominees. “You want to say it?” you asked, your voice filled with excitement and anticipation.

“You say it,” Timothée laughed, enjoying the playful banter and the suspense you were creating. The room was buzzing with curiosity and excitement as they waited for the big reveal.

Taking another deep breath, you focused your gaze on Pedro, who was now sitting on the edge of his seat, his eyes locked on you. You looked around the room, taking in the expectant faces of the audience, before finally announcing, “Pedro Pascal, The Last Of Us!”

The room erupted into cheers and applause. Pedro stood up, waving to the crowd before quickly making his way to the podium.

Completely ignoring Timothée and the trophy he held, Pedro hugged you tightly, lifting you off the ground and spinning you around. “Oh my god,” you laughed, feeling the joy and excitement of the moment. Timothée gave the audience a confused look with a smile, adding to the lightheartedness of the scene.

Pedro gently set you down and kissed you. The kiss tasted like sweet victory. You didn’t expect it, but you liked it. Despite the age difference between you and Pedro, you were the iconic couple of Hollywood, and people loved seeing you two together.

He shook your hand and Timothée’s, finally taking the trophy as he made his way to the microphone with a proud smile.

Pedro placed the trophy down on the glass table next to the mic, taking a moment to collect himself. “This is wrong for a number of reasons,” he began, his voice still trembling a bit from the shock and excitement of winning.

“I’m a little drunk,” he admitted with a sheepish smile, “I thought I could get drunk.” You shared a playful look with Timothée, rolling your eyes in amusement. This man was unbelievably adorable.

Pedro continued, “And thank you, HBO,” he trailed off, gathering his thoughts. “Mostly, I want to thank my beautiful wife, Y/n,” he said, looking back at you and then looking ahead again. “Y/n, you’re an incredible woman, and thank you for always supporting me.”

Even though you had promised yourself you wouldn't cry, you couldn't help but tear up when Pedro mentioned your name. The emotion in his voice and the sincerity of his words were overwhelming.

“Thank you for making me take the role of Joel,” Pedro continued, his voice filled with gratitude and love. He didn't stop there. He gave you so much credit for his success, acknowledging your unwavering support and encouragement.

As you listened to him, pride swelled in your chest. You were so proud of him and everything he had achieved. The recognition he was giving you made the moment even more special.

“I love you,” Pedro finished, his voice trembling with emotion.

Pedro took the trophy in his hands, "I'm going to have a panic attack, and I'm going to leave," he joked, causing the room to erupt in applause once again as he left the stage.

You and Timothée took your place in front of the mic, proud tears still running down your cheeks. "Wow, Y/n, you look really touched," Timothée joked into the mic, eliciting laughs from the audience. "Say something," he urged, his comedic timing spot-on and making everyone chuckle.

You took the mic, your emotions a mix of pride, joy, and amusement. "Pedro, you bastard," you said playfully, causing the audience to burst into laughter.

[alexlwrites]

𝐀 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥'𝐬 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥

✿𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Jungkook x Reader

✿ 𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚:  The one where you hate your boyfriend's best friend. Lucky for you, your boyfriend's other best friend's girlfriend hates her too.

OR

Hoseok's girlfriend will not let you be disrespected.

✿ 𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒔: Angst, Short.

✿ 𝐀/𝐍: this is Aera, btw. We all need one in our lives.

Anyway, very short and silly one shot. Maybe one day I'll write YN or JK's POV.

°•. ✿ .•°

(Fanfic masterlist)

(support me on my ko-fi <3)

°•. ✿ .•°

Aera had, as a personal rule, the habit of not meddling in other people’s businesses. Her own were already too much of a burden and she was not put on this earth to overwork herself with someone else’s problems. They could it either solve it on their own or fuck off, as far as Aera was concerned.

But everything had a limit and you, with your kind ways and pretty smiles that had sneaked your way into Aera’s very tight circle of friends, were just too nice for her to just watch you suffer. After all, she was a girl’s girl through and through.

Except when it came to Eunjae. That bitch could choke and no amount of girlhood talk would change Aera’s mind.

It all exploded on a cold Friday when the whole gang got together to meet at a bar, squeezing into a booth. There was Aera, her boyfriend Hoseok, his friends Jin and Yoongi on one side, sharing a plate of fries. On the other side, Namjoon, you, your boyfriend Jungkook and Aera’s number one public enemy, Eunjae.

Eunjae had been a childhood friend to the boys, knowing them for many years as they held on to her like a security blanket. And that would of course not bother Aera at all, if Eunjae had any sort of common sense or boundaries. She seemed to think there would never be another girl in the group and she would forever remain their collective girlfriend, leaving no room for anyone else.

But Aera, fearsome and outspoken, had cut that evil from the root at the very beginning, making clear to Hoseok that she would not allow herself to be antagonized. Either he spoke up or she would walk out. Not buts. 

Unfortunately, you were not as assertive as her. And even worse, Jungkook seemed to be Aera’s favorite target.

You and Jungkook had been dating for quite a few months and it was clear to anyone with eyes that you did really like each other: you looked at him as if he hung the stars in the skies and he brought you up in any possible conversation. 

And so, of course, Eunjae hated you. But men were way too simplistic to pick up on her veiled and nuanced aggression, so even though Aera could see clear as day how much Eunjae bothered you, Jungkook never seemed to notice a thing.

It was all in the way Eunjae seemed to drape over him anytime he showed up, throwing herself in a way that made him drop your hand in order not to lose balance. It was how she never allowed you to call him Kookie, as that was “my nickname for you, is it not, Kookie? That’s our thing!”. And, as if that wasn’t enough to trigger even the chilliest of girlfriends, it was the way that every time you had a date schedule, Eunjae suddenly had an emergency that only Jungkook could solve.

And he would go, leaving behind a teary eyed you and an awkward shuffling Aera that did not know how to console you without telling you that you should dump Jungkook’s ass and punch Eunjae on the tits.

So Aera said nothing. And she would stay like that, if that night Eunjae hadn’t pushed her luck a bit too far.

“Oh my God, Kookie!” she exclaimed in the over strident voice she always seemed to have, making your eyes roll in annoyance at the nickname “You’re never gonna guess what I just got!”

Aera exchanged a sympathetic look with you over the table.

“What?”

“Tickets to tomorrow’s baseball game! For all of us! Isn’t that cool?”

The boys whooped in celebration, crowding around Eunjae to check the tickets she had on her hand. But Aera was the one that saw you freeze and look at your boyfriend with the saddest eyes in the world.

He, of course, was too busy staring at the stupid piece of paper. But Aera could see the satisfaction in Eunjae’s eyes, and so she asked “How many tickets did you get?”

“Only six, sorry!”

Aera huffed “Yeah, what a bummer.”

But you were still focused on your boyfriend. “Baby” you called pitifully “but we had plans tomorrow.”

“I’m sure you guys can reschedule, right, Kookie?” Eunjae said and Aera never before in her life wanted to twist someone’s neck so hard.

Ok, there was that time that dude cut the line at Five Guys and she was really hungry. But this was a close second.

“Yeah, baby.” Your dumb boyfriend agreed and if heartbreak was audible the room would’ve exploded in sound at that moment if your expression was anything to go by “You can hang with Aera tomorrow.”

“Oh, okay” you agreed, eyes teary as you hid under a curtain of hair. “Actually, it’s getting late. I think I’m gonna go. I’ll see you all later” and before anyone could say anything, you picked up your purse and left.

And now Aera was furious, as no one seemed to notice nor know why you were so upset and you were way too nice of a girl to be disrespected like that and still manage to not make a scene. “What a saint” she mumbled.

Eunjae scoffed. And that was Aera’s breaking point.

“Yup, okay, I’m done” she raised her hands and stood up from the booth. 

“Baby?” Hoseok called, surprised by her sudden anger. 

(He shouldn’t be. Aera was always at least 5% pissed off, like the Hulk.)

“I really tried not to say anything out of respect for your truly dysfunctional friendship, but I had enough. You” she pointed at her boyfriend “if you pull half of this shit on me, just know I’m dumping your sorry ass and putting a curse on you. Like, your penis will actually fall off. You” she turned to Eunjae, who seemed only mildly bothered at her explosion and that pissed Aera even more “are the evilest bitch on earth to pull this stunt on a girl as cool as Y/N and I hope you know you’re lucky she’s so nice, cause if that was me you would’ve been bald in a ditch right now. And finally you” she at least turned to Jungkook, who seemed stupidly shocked at her outburst “that girl will dump you anytime now and although I truly love you like a brother, she deserves better than what you give her. Oof, that feels great to get out of my chest.”

The table was silent for a while before Eunjae screeched “Are you just going to let her talk to me like that?!”.

Hm, yes they were. No one wanted to lose their penis and Aera was fucking scary.

“W-what do you mean Y/N is going to break up with me?” Jungkookie asked, looking truly upset at the news.

“C'mon dude. You’re lucky you’re handsome cause clearly your head is just a hat rack if you can’t figure that out.” Aera looked around the circle of flabbergasted men “Really? No one? Ok, let me explain in a way y’all dumb dumbs can understand: Jungkook, how many times in the last few weeks did you and Y/N hang out just the two of you? Like a date?”

“Two times, maybe?”

“And how many times did you hang out with the wicked witch of the west right here?”

Jungkook winced and did not answer.

“It’s not his fault that I’m more fun to hang with!” Eunjae exclaimed.

“Ay, don’t say that” Jungkook tried to defend you but by then it was too late.

“And how many times were you hanging out with Y/N and this soon to be bald bitch called you and asked to see you?”

No answer.

“And did you go?”

Silence. Guilty silence.

“Yup. That’s what I thought. And finally, do you know what day tomorrow is?”

Jungkook frowned “Tomorrow? We had a date planned, I guess.”

“You guess, huh?” Aera let out a strangled laugh that made Namjoon slide under the table a bit “Tomorrow was your girlfriend’s birthday, dumbass. And you know how I know that? Cause I heard Eunjae ask her in the girl’s bathroom about her plans before she suddenly appeared with these magical tickets. So!” Aera clapped as Jungkook’s mouth opened in horror and other boys cast disappointed looks at Eunjae “I hope you all enjoy the game and I do hope the ball hits you bitch straight on the head and you get amnesia and forget what a terrible person you are. And finally I do hope Y/N finds herself some back bone and breaks up with you tomorrow because what a birthday gift would it be to be free of this clusterfuck. Anyway, good luck to you all.”

And with that, Aera left, going after you cause she would be damned if she left you alone. After all, she was a girl’s girl.

[neovillains]

like a pornstar : gojo satoru ─── click the star for supplemental visuals ( a p!rn link )

amateur pornstar!gojo that makes it big with solo videos on onlyfans. him masturbating on camera, whether it was using a fleshlight or jerking himself off with his fist ( ★ ). he was faceless and it really called in a good fanbase from the start. his viewers loved the mystery, the allure of it all. (they also liked his pretty cock and long it is.)

the more his fanbase grew, the more platforms he continued to build himself on. tiktok, he posted faceless thirst traps and shirtless videos. teasing plenty of women and men with the outline of v-line and strikingly white happy trail. shower videos where water was streaming down his back, he had 5.4 millions likes on one particular one where he nearly flashed people at the last second. (he doesn't understand how the video hasn't been taken down yet.) the popular social media platform only made him bigger.

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[phlegmpop]

Confessions of a Former Bastard Cop

I was a police officer for nearly ten years and I was a bastard. We all were.

This essay has been kicking around in my head for years now and I’ve never felt confident enough to write it. It’s a time in my life I’m ashamed of. It’s a time that I hurt people and, through inaction, allowed others to be hurt. It’s a time that I acted as a violent agent of capitalism and white supremacy. Under the guise of public safety, I personally ruined people’s lives but in so doing, made the public no safer… so did the family members and close friends of mine who also bore the badge alongside me.

But enough is enough.

The reforms aren’t working. Incrementalism isn’t happening. Unarmed Black, indigenous, and people of color are being killed by cops in the streets and the police are savagely attacking the people protesting these murders.

American policing is a thick blue tumor strangling the life from our communities and if you don’t believe it when the poor and the marginalized say it, if you don’t believe it when you see cops across the country shooting journalists with less-lethal bullets and caustic chemicals, maybe you’ll believe it when you hear it straight from the pig’s mouth.

WHY AM I WRITING THIS

As someone who went through the training, hiring, and socialization of a career in law enforcement, I wanted to give a first-hand account of why I believe police officers are the way they are. Not to excuse their behavior, but to explain it and to indict the structures that perpetuate it.

I believe that if everyone understood how we’re trained and brought up in the profession, it would inform the demands our communities should be making of a new way of community safety. If I tell you how we were made, I hope it will empower you to unmake us.

One of the other reasons I’ve struggled to write this essay is that I don’t want to center the conversation on myself and my big salty boo-hoo feelings about my bad choices. It’s a toxic white impulse to see atrocities and think “How can I make this about me?” So, I hope you’ll take me at my word that this account isn’t meant to highlight me, but rather the hundred thousand of me in every city in the country. It’s about the structure that made me (that I chose to pollute myself with) and it’s my meager contribution to the cause of radical justice.

YES, ALL COPS ARE BASTARDS

I was a police officer in a major metropolitan area in California with a predominantly poor, non-white population (with a large proportion of first-generation immigrants). One night during briefing, our watch commander told us that the city council had requested a new zero tolerance policy. Against murderers, drug dealers, or child predators?

No, against homeless people collecting cans from recycling bins.

See, the city had some kickback deal with the waste management company where waste management got paid by the government for our expected tonnage of recycling. When homeless people “stole” that recycling from the waste management company, they were putting that cheaper contract in peril. So, we were to arrest as many recyclers as we could find.

Even for me, this was a stupid policy and I promptly blew Sarge off. But a few hours later, Sarge called me over to assist him. He was detaining a 70 year old immigrant who spoke no English, who he’d seen picking a coke can out of a trash bin. He ordered me to arrest her for stealing trash. I said, “Sarge, c’mon, she’s an old lady.” He said, “I don’t give a shit. Hook her up, that’s an order.” And… I did. She cried the entire way to the station and all through the booking process. I couldn’t even comfort her because I didn’t speak Spanish. I felt disgusting but I was ordered to make this arrest and I wasn’t willing to lose my job for her.

If you’re tempted to feel sympathy for me, don’t. I used to happily hassle the homeless under other circumstances. I researched obscure penal codes so I could arrest people in homeless encampments for lesser known crimes like “remaining too close to railroad property” (369i of the California Penal Code). I used to call it “planting warrant seeds” since I knew they wouldn’t make their court dates and we could arrest them again and again for warrant violations.

We used to have informal contests for who could cite or arrest someone for the weirdest law. DUI on a bicycle, non-regulation number of brooms on your tow truck (27700(a)(1) of the California Vehicle Code)… shit like that. For me, police work was a logic puzzle for arresting people, regardless of their actual threat to the community. As ashamed as I am to admit it, it needs to be said: stripping people of their freedom felt like a game to me for many years.

I know what you’re going to ask: did I ever plant drugs? Did I ever plant a gun on someone? Did I ever make a false arrest or file a false report? Believe it or not, the answer is no. Cheating was no fun, I liked to get my stats the “legitimate” way. But I knew officers who kept a little baggie of whatever or maybe a pocket knife that was a little too big in their war bags (yeah, we called our dufflebags “war bags”…). Did I ever tell anybody about it? No I did not. Did I ever confess my suspicions when cocaine suddenly showed up in a gang member’s jacket? No I did not.

In fact, let me tell you about an extremely formative experience: in my police academy class, we had a clique of around six trainees who routinely bullied and harassed other students: intentionally scuffing another trainee’s shoes to get them in trouble during inspection, sexually harassing female trainees, cracking racist jokes, and so on. Every quarter, we were to write anonymous evaluations of our squadmates. I wrote scathing accounts of their behavior, thinking I was helping keep bad apples out of law enforcement and believing I would be protected. Instead, the academy staff read my complaints to them out loud and outed me to them and never punished them, causing me to get harassed for the rest of my academy class. That’s how I learned that even police leadership hates rats. That’s why no one is “changing things from the inside.” They can’t, the structure won’t allow it.

And that’s the point of what I’m telling you. Whether you were my sergeant, legally harassing an old woman, me, legally harassing our residents, my fellow trainees bullying the rest of us, or “the bad apples” illegally harassing “shitbags”, we were all in it together. I knew cops that pulled women over to flirt with them. I knew cops who would pepper spray sleeping bags so that homeless people would have to throw them away. I knew cops that intentionally provoked anger in suspects so they could claim they were assaulted. I was particularly good at winding people up verbally until they lashed out so I could fight them. Nobody spoke out. Nobody stood up. Nobody betrayed the code.

None of us protected the people (you) from bad cops.

This is why “All cops are bastards.” Even your uncle, even your cousin, even your mom, even your brother, even your best friend, even your spouse, even me. Because even if they wouldn’t Do The Thing themselves, they will almost never rat out another officer who Does The Thing, much less stop it from happening.

BASTARD 101

I could write an entire book of the awful things I’ve done, seen done, and heard others bragging about doing. But, to me, the bigger question is “How did it get this way?”. While I was a police officer in a city 30 miles from where I lived, many of my fellow officers were from the community and treated their neighbors just as badly as I did. While every cop’s individual biases come into play, it’s the profession itself that is toxic, and it starts from day 1 of training.

Every police academy is different but all of them share certain features: taught by old cops, run like a paramilitary bootcamp, strong emphasis on protecting yourself more than anyone else. The majority of my time in the academy was spent doing aggressive physical training and watching video after video after video of police officers being murdered on duty.

I want to highlight this: nearly everyone coming into law enforcement is bombarded with dash cam footage of police officers being ambushed and killed. Over and over and over. Colorless VHS mortality plays, cops screaming for help over their radios, their bodies going limp as a pair of tail lights speed away into a grainy black horizon. In my case, with commentary from an old racist cop who used to brag about assaulting Black Panthers.

To understand why all cops are bastards, you need to understand one of the things almost every training officer told me when it came to using force:

“I’d rather be judged by 12 than carried by 6.”

Meaning, “I’ll take my chances in court rather than risk getting hurt”.

We’re able to think that way because police unions are extremely overpowered and because of the generous concept of Qualified Immunity, a legal theory which says a cop generally can’t be held personally liable for mistakes they make doing their job in an official capacity.

When you look at the actions of the officers who killed George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, David McAtee, Mike Brown, Tamir Rice, Philando Castile, Eric Garner, or Freddie Gray, remember that they, like me, were trained to recite “I’d rather be judged by 12” as a mantra. Even if Mistakes Were Made™, the city (meaning the taxpayers, meaning you) pays the settlement, not the officer.

Once police training has - through repetition, indoctrination, and violent spectacle - promised officers that everyone in the world is out to kill them, the next lesson is that your partners are the only people protecting you. Occasionally, this is even true: I’ve had encounters turn on me rapidly to the point I legitimately thought I was going to die, only to have other officers come and turn the tables.

One of the most important thought leaders in law enforcement is Col. Dave Grossman, a “killologist” who wrote an essay called “Sheep, Wolves, and Sheepdogs”. Cops are the sheepdogs, bad guys are the wolves, and the citizens are the sheep (!). Col. Grossman makes sure to mention that to a stupid sheep, sheepdogs look more like wolves than sheep, and that’s why they dislike you.

This “they hate you for protecting them and only I love you, only I can protect you” tactic is familiar to students of abuse. It’s what abusers do to coerce their victims into isolation, pulling them away from friends and family and ensnaring them in the abuser’s toxic web. Law enforcement does this too, pitting the officer against civilians. “They don’t understand what you do, they don’t respect your sacrifice, they just want to get away with crimes. You’re only safe with us.”

I think the Wolves vs. Sheepdogs dynamic is one of the most important elements as to why officers behave the way they do. Every single second of my training, I was told that criminals were not a legitimate part of their community, that they were individual bad actors, and that their bad actions were solely the result of their inherent criminality. Any concept of systemic trauma, generational poverty, or white supremacist oppression was either never mentioned or simply dismissed. After all, most people don’t steal, so anyone who does isn’t “most people,” right? To us, anyone committing a crime deserved anything that happened to them because they broke the “social contract.” And yet, it was never even a question as to whether the power structure above them was honoring any sort of contract back.

Understand: Police officers are part of the state monopoly on violence and all police training reinforces this monopoly as a cornerstone of police work, a source of honor and pride. Many cops fantasize about getting to kill someone in the line of duty, egged on by others that have. One of my training officers told me about the time he shot and killed a mentally ill homeless man wielding a big stick. He bragged that he “slept like a baby” that night. Official training teaches you how to be violent effectively and when you’re legally allowed to deploy that violence, but “unofficial training” teaches you to desire violence, to expand the breadth of your violence without getting caught, and to erode your own compassion for desperate people so you can justify punitive violence against them.

HOW TO BE A BASTARD

I have participated in some of these activities personally, others are ones I either witnessed personally or heard officers brag about openly. Very, very occasionally, I knew an officer who was disciplined or fired for one of these things.

Police officers will lie about the law, about what’s illegal, or about what they can legally do to you in order to manipulate you into doing what they want.

Police officers will lie about feeling afraid for their life to justify a use of force after the fact.

Police officers will lie and tell you they’ll file a police report just to get you off their back.

Police officers will lie that your cooperation will “look good for you” in court, or that they will “put in a good word for you with the DA.” The police will never help you look good in court.

Police officers will lie about what they see and hear to access private property to conduct unlawful searches.

Police officers will lie and say your friend already ratted you out, so you might as well rat them back out. This is almost never true.

Police officers will lie and say you’re not in trouble in order to get you to exit a location or otherwise make an arrest more convenient for them.

Police officers will lie and say that they won’t arrest you if you’ll just “be honest with them” so they know what really happened.

Police officers will lie about their ability to seize the property of friends and family members to coerce a confession.

Police officers will write obviously bullshit tickets so that they get time-and-a-half overtime fighting them in court.

Police officers will search places and containers you didn’t consent to and later claim they were open or “smelled like marijuana”.

Police officers will threaten you with a more serious crime they can’t prove in order to convince you to confess to the lesser crime they really want you for.

Police officers will employ zero tolerance on races and ethnicities they dislike and show favor and lenience to members of their own group.

Police officers will use intentionally extra-painful maneuvers and holds during an arrest to provoke “resistance” so they can further assault the suspect.

Some police officers will plant drugs and weapons on you, sometimes to teach you a lesson, sometimes if they kill you somewhere away from public view.

Some police officers will assault you to intimidate you and threaten to arrest you if you tell anyone.

A non-trivial number of police officers will steal from your house or vehicle during a search.

A non-trivial number of police officers commit intimate partner violence and use their status to get away with it.

A non-trivial number of police officers use their position to entice, coerce, or force sexual favors from vulnerable people.

If you take nothing else away from this essay, I want you to tattoo this onto your brain forever: if a police officer is telling you something, it is probably a lie designed to gain your compliance.

Do not talk to cops and never, ever believe them. Do not “try to be helpful” with cops. Do not assume they are trying to catch someone else instead of you. Do not assume what they are doing is “important” or even legal. Under no circumstances assume any police officer is acting in good faith.

Also, and this is important, do not talk to cops.

I just remembered something, do not talk to cops.

Checking my notes real quick, something jumped out at me:

Do

not

fucking

talk

to

cops.

Ever.

Say, “I don’t answer questions,” and ask if you’re free to leave; if so, leave. If not, tell them you want your lawyer and that, per the Supreme Court, they must terminate questioning. If they don’t, file a complaint and collect some badges for your mantle.

DO THE BASTARDS EVER HELP?

Reading the above, you may be tempted to ask whether cops ever do anything good. And the answer is, sure, sometimes. In fact, most officers I worked with thought they were usually helping the helpless and protecting the safety of innocent people.

During my tenure in law enforcement, I protected women from domestic abusers, arrested cold-blooded murderers and child molesters, and comforted families who lost children to car accidents and other tragedies. I helped connect struggling people in my community with local resources for food, shelter, and counseling. I deescalated situations that could have turned violent and talked a lot of people down from making the biggest mistake of their lives. I worked with plenty of officers who were individually kind, bought food for homeless residents, or otherwise showed care for their community.

The question is this: did I need a gun and sweeping police powers to help the average person on the average night? The answer is no. When I was doing my best work as a cop, I was doing mediocre work as a therapist or a social worker. My good deeds were listening to people failed by the system and trying to unite them with any crumbs of resources the structure was currently denying them.

It’s also important to note that well over 90% of the calls for service I handled were reactive, showing up well after a crime had taken place. We would arrive, take a statement, collect evidence (if any), file the report, and onto the next caper. Most “active” crimes we stopped were someone harmless possessing or selling a small amount of drugs. Very, very rarely would we stop something dangerous in progress or stop something from happening entirely. The closest we could usually get was seeing someone running away from the scene of a crime, but the damage was still done.

And consider this: my job as a police officer required me to be a marriage counselor, a mental health crisis professional, a conflict negotiator, a social worker, a child advocate, a traffic safety expert, a sexual assault specialist, and, every once in awhile, a public safety officer authorized to use force, all after only a 1000 hours of training at a police academy. Does the person we send to catch a robber also need to be the person we send to interview a rape victim or document a fender bender? Should one profession be expected to do all that important community care (with very little training) all at the same time?

To put this another way: I made double the salary most social workers made to do a fraction of what they could do to mitigate the causes of crimes and desperation. I can count very few times my monopoly on state violence actually made our citizens safer, and even then, it’s hard to say better-funded social safety nets and dozens of other community care specialists wouldn’t have prevented a problem before it started.

Armed, indoctrinated (and dare I say, traumatized) cops do not make you safer; community mutual aid networks who can unite other people with the resources they need to stay fed, clothed, and housed make you safer. I really want to hammer this home: every cop in your neighborhood is damaged by their training, emboldened by their immunity, and they have a gun and the ability to take your life with near-impunity. This does not make you safer, even if you’re white.

HOW DO YOU SOLVE A PROBLEM LIKE A BASTARD?

So what do we do about it? Even though I’m an expert on bastardism, I am not a public policy expert nor an expert in organizing a post-police society. So, before I give some suggestions, let me tell you what probably won’t solve the problem of bastard cops:

Increased “bias” training. A quarterly or even monthly training session is not capable of covering over years of trauma-based camaraderie in police forces. I can tell you from experience, we don’t take it seriously, the proctors let us cheat on whatever “tests” there are, and we all made fun of it later over coffee.

Tougher laws. I hope you understand by now, cops do not follow the law and will not hold each other accountable to the law. Tougher laws are all the more reason to circle the wagons and protect your brothers and sisters.

More community policing programs. Yes, there is a marginal effect when a few cops get to know members of the community, but look at the protests of 2020: many of the cops pepper-spraying journalists were probably the nice school cop a month ago.

Police officers do not protect and serve people, they protect and serve the status quo, “polite society”, and private property. Using the incremental mechanisms of the status quo will never reform the police because the status quo relies on police violence to exist. Capitalism requires a permanent underclass to exploit for cheap labor and it requires the cops to bring that underclass to heel.

Instead of wasting time with minor tweaks, I recommend exploring the following ideas:

No more qualified immunity. Police officers should be personally liable for all decisions they make in the line of duty.

No more civil asset forfeiture. Did you know that every year, citizens like you lose more cash and property to unaccountable civil asset forfeiture than to all burglaries combined? The police can steal your stuff without charging you with a crime and it makes some police departments very rich.

Break the power of police unions. Police unions make it nearly impossible to fire bad cops and incentivize protecting them to protect the power of the union. A police union is not a labor union; police officers are powerful state agents, not exploited workers.

Require malpractice insurance. Doctors must pay for insurance in case they botch a surgery, police officers should do the same for botching a police raid or other use of force. If human decency won’t motivate police to respect human life, perhaps hitting their wallet might.

Defund, demilitarize, and disarm cops. Thousands of police departments own assault rifles, armored personnel carriers, and stuff you’d see in a warzone. Police officers have grants and huge budgets to spend on guns, ammo, body armor, and combat training. 99% of calls for service require no armed response, yet when all you have is a gun, every problem feels like target practice. Cities are not safer when unaccountable bullies have a monopoly on state violence and the equipment to execute that monopoly.

One final idea: consider abolishing the police.

I know what you’re thinking, “What? We need the police! They protect us!” As someone who did it for nearly a decade, I need you to understand that by and large, police protection is marginal, incidental. It’s an illusion created by decades of copaganda designed to fool you into thinking these brave men and women are holding back the barbarians at the gates.

I alluded to this above: the vast majority of calls for service I handled were theft reports, burglary reports, domestic arguments that hadn’t escalated into violence, loud parties, (houseless) people loitering, traffic collisions, very minor drug possession, and arguments between neighbors. Mostly the mundane ups and downs of life in the community, with little inherent danger. And, like I mentioned, the vast majority of crimes I responded to (even violent ones) had already happened; my unaccountable license to kill was irrelevant.

What I mainly provided was an “objective” third party with the authority to document property damage, ask people to chill out or disperse, or counsel people not to beat each other up. A trained counselor or conflict resolution specialist would be ten times more effective than someone with a gun strapped to his hip wondering if anyone would try to kill him when he showed up. There are many models for community safety that can be explored if we get away from the idea that the only way to be safe is to have a man with a M4 rifle prowling your neighborhood ready at a moment’s notice to write down your name and birthday after you’ve been robbed and beaten.

You might be asking, “What about the armed robbers, the gangsters, the drug dealers, the serial killers?” And yes, in the city I worked, I regularly broke up gang parties, found gang members carrying guns, and handled homicides. I’ve seen some tragic things, from a reformed gangster shot in the head with his brains oozing out to a fifteen year old boy taking his last breath in his screaming mother’s arms thanks to a gang member’s bullet. I know the wages of violence.

This is where we have to have the courage to ask: why do people rob? Why do they join gangs? Why do they get addicted to drugs or sell them? It’s not because they are inherently evil. I submit to you that these are the results of living in a capitalist system that grinds people down and denies them housing, medical care, human dignity, and a say in their government. These are the results of white supremacy pushing people to the margins, excluding them, disrespecting them, and treating their bodies as disposable.

Equally important to remember: disabled and mentally ill people are frequently killed by police officers not trained to recognize and react to disabilities or mental health crises. Some of the people we picture as “violent offenders” are often people struggling with untreated mental illness, often due to economic hardships. Very frequently, the officers sent to “protect the community” escalate this crisis and ultimately wound or kill the person. Your community was not made safer by police violence; a sick member of your community was killed because it was cheaper than treating them. Are you extremely confident you’ll never get sick one day too?

Wrestle with this for a minute: if all of someone’s material needs were met and all the members of their community were fed, clothed, housed, and dignified, why would they need to join a gang? Why would they need to risk their lives selling drugs or breaking into buildings? If mental healthcare was free and was not stigmatized, how many lives would that save?

Would there still be a few bad actors in the world? Sure, probably. What’s my solution for them, you’re no doubt asking. I’ll tell you what: generational poverty, food insecurity, houselessness, and for-profit medical care are all problems that can be solved in our lifetimes by rejecting the dehumanizing meat grinder of capitalism and white supremacy. Once that’s done, we can work on the edge cases together, with clearer hearts not clouded by a corrupt system.

Police abolition is closely related to the idea of prison abolition and the entire concept of banishing the carceral state, meaning, creating a society focused on reconciliation and restorative justice instead of punishment, pain, and suffering — a system that sees people in crisis as humans, not monsters. People who want to abolish the police typically also want to abolish prisons, and the same questions get asked: “What about the bad guys? Where do we put them?” I bring this up because abolitionists don’t want to simply replace cops with armed social workers or prisons with casual detention centers full of puffy leather couches and Playstations. We imagine a world not divided into good guys and bad guys, but rather a world where people’s needs are met and those in crisis receive care, not dehumanization.

Here’s legendary activist and thinker Angela Y. Davis putting it better than I ever could:

“An abolitionist approach that seeks to answer questions such as these would require us to imagine a constellation of alternative strategies and institutions, with the ultimate aim of removing the prison from the social and ideological landscapes of our society. In other words, we would not be looking for prisonlike substitutes for the prison, such as house arrest safeguarded by electronic surveillance bracelets. Rather, positing decarceration as our overarching strategy, we would try to envision a continuum of alternatives to imprisonment-demilitarization of schools, revitalization of education at all levels, a health system that provides free physical and mental care to all, and a justice system based on reparation and reconciliation rather than retribution and vengeance.”

(Are Prisons Obsolete, pg. 107)

I’m not telling you I have the blueprint for a beautiful new world. What I’m telling you is that the system we have right now is broken beyond repair and that it’s time to consider new ways of doing community together. Those new ways need to be negotiated by members of those communities, particularly Black, indigenous, disabled, houseless, and citizens of color historically shoved into the margins of society. Instead of letting Fox News fill your head with nightmares about Hispanic gangs, ask the Hispanic community what they need to thrive. Instead of letting racist politicians scaremonger about pro-Black demonstrators, ask the Black community what they need to meet the needs of the most vulnerable. If you truly desire safety, ask not what your most vulnerable can do for the community, ask what the community can do for the most vulnerable.

A WORLD WITH FEWER BASTARDS IS POSSIBLE

If you take only one thing away from this essay, I hope it’s this: do not talk to cops. But if you only take two things away, I hope the second one is that it’s possible to imagine a different world where unarmed black people, indigenous people, poor people, disabled people, and people of color are not routinely gunned down by unaccountable police officers. It doesn’t have to be this way. Yes, this requires a leap of faith into community models that might feel unfamiliar, but I ask you:

When you see a man dying in the street begging for breath, don’t you want to leap away from that world?

When you see a mother or a daughter shot to death sleeping in their beds, don’t you want to leap away from that world?

When you see a twelve year old boy executed in a public park for the crime of playing with a toy, jesus fucking christ, can you really just stand there and think “This is normal”?

And to any cops who made it this far down, is this really the world you want to live in? Aren’t you tired of the trauma? Aren’t you tired of the soul sickness inherent to the badge? Aren’t you tired of looking the other way when your partners break the law? Are you really willing to kill the next George Floyd, the next Breonna Taylor, the next Tamir Rice? How confident are you that your next use of force will be something you’re proud of?

I’m writing this for you too: it’s wrong what our training did to us, it’s wrong that they hardened our hearts to our communities, and it’s wrong to pretend this is normal.

Look, I wouldn’t have been able to hear any of this for much of my life. You reading this now may not be able to hear this yet either. But do me this one favor: just think about it. Just turn it over in your mind for a couple minutes. “Yes, And” me for a minute. Look around you and think about the kind of world you want to live in. Is it one where an all-powerful stranger with a gun keeps you and your neighbors in line with the fear of death, or can you picture a world where, as a community, we embrace our most vulnerable, meet their needs, heal their wounds, honor their dignity, and make them family instead of desperate outsiders?

If you take only three things away from this essay, I hope the third is this: you and your community don’t need bastards to thrive.

RESOURCES TO YES-AND WITH

Achele Mbembe — Necropolitics (https://muse.jhu.edu/article/39984)

Angela Y. Davis — Are Prisons Obsolete? (https://www.feministes-radicales.org/wp-content/uploads/2010/11/Angela-Davis-Are_Prisons_Obsolete.pdf)

CriticalResistance.org — Abolition Toolkit (http://criticalresistance.org/wp-content/uploads/2012/06/CR-Abolitionist-Toolkit-online.pdf)

Joe Macaré, Maya Schenwar, and Alana Yu-lan Price — Who Do You Serve, Who Do You Protect? (https://www.haymarketbooks.org/authors/491-joe-macare)

Ruth Wilson Gilmore — COVID-19, Decarceration, Abolition [video] (https://www.haymarketbooks.org/blogs/128-ruth-wilson-gilmore-on-covid-19-decarceration-and-abolition)

Cops are trained to be bad. Anyone who insists on being good is not welcome.

[wonderjanga]

lies freddy has the league believing about marvel that billy is oblivious to

Junior: “You know, he birthed me himself, right?”

Flash: “What?“ *was literally minding his business when Freddy dropped that*

Junior: “You know, Cap birthed me himself, right?”

Flash: *looking around cause why the hell did he suddenly bring this up* “Uh… no, I did not know that… how did he…? What are you talking about??”

Junior: “Marvel. Birthed. Me. Had the round belly and everything.”

Flash: *disturbed at the images filtering in his mind* “Who- Who’s the father??”

Junior: “Black Adam.”

Flash: “WHAT??”

Junior: “Who’d you think it was?”

Flash: “I DON’T KNOW BECAUSE I’VE NEVER EVEN CONCEIVED THE NOTION THAT YOU CAME OUT OF HIM??”

Later…

Flash: “Cap! I uh… I gotta something.”

Marvel: “Go ahead?”

Flash: “Were you pregnant?”

Marvel: “What-”

Flash: “With Junior?”

Marvel: “WHAT?”

Flash: “And is the father Black Adam?”

Marvel: “WHAT????”

Marvel: *making pancakes*

Junior: *eating pancakes*

Batman: *eating pancakes specially made to look bat-shaped*

Junior: *aggressively stabbing and eating pancakes* “Kill them. All. Kill them all.”

Batman: *slowly looks over to him* “Is something wrong, Junior?”

Junior: “Yes! Your stupid rules say that I’ll get kicked out of the Teen Titans if I kill Captain Nazi!”

Batman: *sighs* “Junior, you cannot kill villains-” *tired of having this talk with a bunch of people (aka Jason)* “Captain please talk some sense into your child.”

Marvel: “Huh? No, I completely 100% agree with him.”

Batman: “What-”

[illubean]

Walk Him Like a Dog!

In which Nerdjo is your roommate (eventually boyfriend) who will do anything for you <3

Characters: Satoru Gojo Type: Oneshot, Fem!Reader, can u tell I'm a sucker for College!AU

ignore the unserious ass images idk what to use for this 😭

Warnings: descriptions of reader's appearance (stuff like smooth skin or long lashes, nothing too specific), NSFW Reader discretion is advised (it’s probably skippable)

Gojo doesn't know how he's going to survive having you as a roommate.

He doesn't do all that well when it comes to the social scene. Sure, he's nice and accidentally charismatic, but he's only found few people who will listen to him talk about his hobbies without judgement. That being said though doesn't mean he's anti-social. Quite the opposite actually.

When Gojo posted about the vacancy in his apartment, it was because his previous roommate and best friend transferred schools, leaving him all alone in the space. The snowy haired male could easily afford to live on his own, but he couldn't stand to be completely by himself. Initially, he just expected some random guy would take the room, someone who he could be at least somewhat friends with (because lets be real, he can never and will never replace his moody bestie).

What he didn't expect, though, was a pretty thing like you messaging him to ask about the room. When you met at the campus cafe to chat before you made the final decision to move in, his jaw dropped as you settled in the seat across from him. It was like a scene out of a cheesy romance movie, or even that part in Lego Batman where he sees Barbara for the first time. Your hairstyle suited you perfectly, long lashes batting as he watched how your perfectly glossed lips moved when you spoke. He was so entranced he almost didn't catch what you said.

"Hey! Thanks for meeting up with me. I seriously need to move ASAP, I'm glad I saw your post before anyone else asked about it!"

"Uhm.......wow you're so...I mean yeah, how lucky!"

The poor guy practically had heart eyes while everything around you turned to glitter, emphasizing your features. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as Gojo focused on you. It wasn't the first time he's seen you around. Often times you'd pass him on the way to class or around the dining hall, always with a friend. He always knew you were gorgeous but never bothered to approach you, concluding that you were way out of his league. And you were so much prettier up close.

You pretended not to notice his very obvious gawking. If it were any other man, you would've probably cussed him out and walked away by now. But it wasn't a secret that Gojo was cute; he also seemed pretty sweet in comparison to the douchey guys who approached you most of the time. You spent 15-20 minutes chatting with him before you had to run to your next class. He was happy things went well and you decided to take him up on his offer, arranging to move all of your stuff into his apartment the upcoming weekend.

About a month or so after you settled into your new living arrangement, Gojo was able to see sides of you no one but your closest friends know about. He got to learn more about your hobbies and little habits, like how on occasion you partake in what you call "floor time". He even got to watch how you stumbled out of your room and padded your way to the kitchen in the morning, sporting an atrocious bedhead and your cartoon pj pants. Even with eye crusties and sleep lines on your face, he still thought you were adorable.

The more time that passed by, Gojo fell harder and harder for you. He never planned to tell you about his feelings though; just seeing you go about your life in the shared space and having you around was enough. He couldn't risk the good thing he had going over a silly not so little crush.

Aside from being in love with you, living together and having you as a roommate was very pleasant. You made sure to keep things clean and never shied away from spending quality roommate time with Gojo. You also made it so that Gojo himself took better care of the space and his well being. All just by being there.

You guys grew to become pretty close friends. He would walk you to your classes whenever he had the chance, you would sit with him while he studies or plays his games and the two of you even had weekly movie and or TV show binge nights. Gojo always chose some nerdy superhero or fantasy movie with the occasional anime series, but you never really minded. During his free time, your tall companion rarely left the apartment. And if he did, it was usually just to accompany you. And you quickly realized that he rarely ever said no to you. Any time you asked him to drive you to the grocery store, hold your bag while you were out or even just simple things like helping you open a pickle jar he always did so with enthusiasm. He has never once complained about any of the tasks you ask of him, even if it was something ridiculous like rearranging the layout of your room ten times just to put everything back to the way it was before. He was always happy to help. After realizing how good he treats you, you quickly started falling for the man yourself. He really was a sweet boy, ever so helpful and kind and not to mention the cutest thing ever. You never missed the way his cheeks would dust a rosy shade whenever you were too close, or how he fidgets with his clothes when he’s feeling nervous. Even the light and passion in his eyes whenever he would geek out about the marvel franchise or whatever video game he was currently into was adorable. It was obvious there was mutual attraction between the two of you, but in order to have some fun you decided to see how far you could push his limits before everything would come out into the open.

You started by asking him for his opinion on small things, like what color shirt he liked better on you or if you should wear blue or black jeans. Then from there, it went to asking him about things on your computer (which you may or may not already know how to do). This would force him to either lean next to or above you while you sat in your desk chair, watching your screen and taking your mouse from you to fix whatever needed fixing. Then, you started asking for more risqué things, like helping you zip up the back of a dress or bringing you a towel that you so coincidentally forgot. You were always sure to thank him genuinely, which escalated from words, to hugs then to pecks on the cheek.

Every time you physically expressed your gratitude, Gojo would freeze up momentarily before offering a quiet “no problem” and retreating to whatever it was he was doing before. On one of your TV nights, you decided to amp things up a bit. Typically, the two of you sat a normal distance away from each other, but as the movie went on you would scootch closer and closer to him. The TV was currently playing whichever part of the Starwars trilogy; Gojo’s pick of course.

“Hey Toru, can you do me a favor?”

He glanced over at you, momentarily turning his attention away from the film to answer you with a smile.

“Yeah, whats up?”

“I’m kind of cold. Can we cuddle?”

His body stiffened as he turned a complete 90 degrees to face you, shoulders tense while he stammered out his response.

“ARE YOU SURE!? I mean- ahem…we can…if you want.”

You giggled at his response before sliding even closer to him, gently pushing him to lay against the armrest of the couch and settling atop him. You could hear his heartbeat quicken while his hands froze in the air for a moment, before awkwardly resting against your back.

“Why’re you so tense? I don’t bite.”

“Right.”

He let out a shaky breath before trying to relax into the couch, lanky limbs entangled with your own. Without tearing your eyes away from the TV screen, you readjusted yourself as well as Gojo, leading his arms to rest around your waist instead of awkwardly against your shoulder blades. You tucked your own arms around and underneath his midsection while you laid comfortably against his broad chest. For someone who didn’t go outside much, he was well built. You weren’t too interested in the movie choice for tonight, but pretended to be for Gojo’s sake. Allas, your attempts were futile as halfway through you ended up falling asleep, lulled by the soft badump badump badump of his hearbeat.

(nsfw below)

After that night, Gojo avoided you like the plague. You were beginning to worry that you may have pushed his boundaries too far. Maybe you read him wrong and he wasn’t interested in you the way you thought. But in reality, that couldn’t be any farther from the case. After getting to cuddle with who Gojo swears is the most beautiful woman on the planet, he couldn’t think about anything else. You were on his mind constantly, often invading his dreams at night and he was too embarrassed to face you. Especially when those dreams became…not so wholesome. He felt bad about thinking of you in this way, he really did. But he just couldn’t help himself. Especially when the weather was shifting and getting warmer. Now, you often opted to sleep in tiny tank tops or shorts, 99% of the time without a bra. This left little to the imagination.

In the late hours of the night, Satoru would pathetically stroke his cock to the thought of you; his pretty little roommate sleeping in the next room. A small part of him thinks you know what you do to him, but the greater portion chalks it all up to you just being friendly, and he was just some disgusting pervert. Satoru whimpers, feeling unimaginably guilty but he just can’t stop. Every night since you watched Starwars together, he would retreat to his room and rub his sad, weeping dick raw to the thought of you. Tonight, his fantasies were running particularly wild. He imagined it were your hand working him instead of his own, imagining the way you would plant kisses against him and tell him how good he’s doing. With a needy whine, Satoru erupted all over his hand and lower abdomen, panting as he leaned against the headboard of his bed.

His body relaxed while he came down from his high, only to tense up again at the sound of his door being slammed open.

“Toru, are you okay!? I heard a-“

You stopped in your tracks as the both of you stared at each other, wide eyed. Satoru was frozen in horror as your eyes trailed down from his own, settling on the pretty length between his legs as it began to stiffen back up again. The initial shock on your face wore off and turned into a sly smirk, causing Satoru to stutter out some lame excuse while he felt heat creep up his neck and engulf his face.

“I’m sorry- it’s not what it looks like!”

Ignoring his embarrassed rambling, you made your way into the room and settled on the bed next to him. Your thigh was pressed flush against his own as you leaned closer to his ear, hand gently grasping his shaft. You felt it twitch beneath your touch, smiling while you whisper into his ear.

“Aww, is this why you’ve been so awkward around me? Y’know, all you had to do was ask.”

Satoru shivered, feeling the way your breath fanned against his face, lips moving to press fluttering kisses against his neck. Pathetic mewls spilled from his lips, feeling jolts of pleasure course through his body at the feeling of your soft hand slowly caressing the angry, pink tip of his cock.

Was this really happening?

His half lidded eyes watched your hand leisurely move up and down as his mind turned to mush. He was broken out of his trance by the feeling of your other hand coming up to grip the back of his neck, turning him to face you before swallowing every noise that came from him. Your lips felt so good against his, so soft.

This was better than anything he could’ve ever imagined. From the minute you barged into his room, Satoru was completely engulfed in you. Engulfed in your presence, your stare, and now your touch. The sweet scent of your body wash was comforting as he listened to himself moan against your lips. Taking advantage of this, you pushed your tongue into his mouth, tangling it with his own. Everything felt hot. Everything from the burning of his ears, to the warmth where your skin touched his, and now, the fire within his abdomen running its course to his second orgasm of the night. Satoru’s hips bucked up into your gentle fist, stuttering as ropes of white hot cum shot from his shaft. This time around, it landed higher onto his tummy than it did before, a broken and muffled “mnffhh” buzzing against your lips. Pulling away from the kiss, you didn’t miss how his lips seemed to chase yours nor the tears that pricked the corners of his eyes.

Letting go of his softening length, your finger swiped up some of the cooling cum off of his sticky tip and brought it to your lips for a taste. Satoru watched you with his ocean colored eyes, glazed over with more than just lust. Your other hand caressed soothing circles at the nape of his neck, fingers threaded through his undercut.

“Toru baby, can you do another favor for me?”

Feeling weak in his post nut haze, all he can muster is a small nod as his swollen lips quivered.

“Only let me see you like this. No one else.”

The next morning, Gojo was almost convinced everything that happened was all a dream. He woke up alone in his bed, the only proof that you could’ve been there was that he was cleaned up and tucked under his covers. Groggily, he swung his legs over the side of his way and dragged himself to the kitchen. The smell of miso soup wafted towards him and he saw you stood in front of the stove.

“G’morning Toru,” you greeted softly, smiling over your shoulder. “Breakfast should be done soon. Come, taste this for me.”

The male blinked a couple of times, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. How could you be so normal right now? Ignoring his inner thoughts, he’s quick to obey you as you spoon fed him some of the soup.

‘S’good,” he says, yawning and making his way to sit at the table. If you were going to play it cool and pretend things didn’t happen last night, then so would he.

After breakfast the two of you went about your days like you normally would. No matter how much Gojo told himself he was fine with not talking about last night, it was eating him alive as time passed by. It wasn’t until the two of you were getting ready for bed that his resolve snapped. He slowly peeked his head into your room, spotting you doing your skincare routine at your vanity.

“You need something?” you asked, offhandedly, seeing him in the reflection of the mirror.

“About last night…did that….mean anything to you?”

His cheeks flushed as he recalled the events from before. He cursed his body for getting worked up again. He was trying to have a serious conversation with you, damn it!

Finishing up the application of your moisturizer, you stood from in front of your vanity to make your way to the door and pull Satoru inside.

“Of course it did,” you respond, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him down for a kiss. “I’m just waiting on you, big guy.”

Satoru practically melted upon the feeling of your lips against his again, expression switching from worried to a lovestruck, dopey smile. It wasn’t for a few moments did the actually process what you said last.

Waiting on me? For what?

You watched as the gears turned in that pretty head of his, his puzzled face quickly lighting up in realization as if a lightbulb were turned on above him.

“Oh, right! Can I please be your boyfriend!?”

You laughed at his excitement, giving him the answer he wanted to hear for so long. You could almost imagine a pair of fluffy ears perking up from the top of his head and a tail wagging happily behind him. You pressed one last kiss against his lips before pushing him out your room door.

“See you tomorrow, boyfriend.”

As time passed, Satoru started to go out more and more, never once leaving your side. This resulted in him being around your friends as well, which caused him to gain more attention and popularity. Your group wasn’t the most stereotypical popular kids; most just being known from sports or student organizations. Even though you weren’t that known, now that Satoru was part of the rather large friend group, other people began to notice him.

Especially other girls.

It wasn’t a secret that the two of you dating, but you also didn’t make it a point to go around and announce it twenty-four seven either. Anyone with a brain and eyes would be able to tell you were together though, especially with the way Satoru always seemed to be attached to your hip and looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky. That didn’t stop certain girls though.

One of them was feeling particularly ballsy today, approaching where he sat in the dining hall while waiting for you to come back from the bathroom. To anyone else, she was obviously flirting with him. But poor, little, no-experience-with-other-girls Satoru didn’t pick up on it. He held conversation with her until you came back, an eyebrow raised and scowl on your face.

“Oh, hey baby! This is (random name) she’s a transfer student,” he said, beaming as if nothing were wrong. Turning to the other girl, he said “This is my amazing, beautiful girlfriend who I love so much! Maybe the two of you can be friends.”

The girl blinked a couple of times before stiffening under your intense glare. She stammered out some cheap excuse before leaving, which Satoru bought with no questions. The rest of lunch went on normal save for the bitterness you were feeling. You couldn’t even be that mad at your clueless boyfriend; it’s not his fault he was so kind and couldn’t pick up on social ques! He noticed your unusual quietness, asking you if you were alright. You dismissed him, saying you were just tired and you were going to head back to the apartment while he attended his next class.

When Satoru got home, he was expecting you to greet him like you do every time, but the only thing he was greeted by was silence. Around this time you’d usually be on the couch watching your favorite show or maybe doing work on the floor next to the coffee table. Confused for a moment, he concluded that maybe you were sleeping. You did say you were tired, right? You were probably just napping. He quietly crept towards your room and pushed the door open to see you wrapped up in your blankets. Your phone was propped up in front of you playing whatever random youtube video you found after doomscrolling for who knows how long. Happy to see you, your white haired boyfriend was quick to jump into bed next to you and hold your blanket-cocooned body close to him.

“Hi baby!”

“Hi, Satoru,” you grumbled, not doing as much as turning to look at him.

Wait.

‘SATORU’!?

After hearing what you called him, the man screams. Genuinely screams. Who are you and what did you do to his loving, doting girlfriend!? He wasted no time in flipping you over on to your back, hovering above you and looking into your eyes. You were caged beneath him, still sulking and pouting about what happened at lunch today.

“SATORU!!?!?!? What did I ever do to my beautiful, wonderful princess with a disorder to be called by such a name!?”

“That stupid girl from earlier was totally hitting on you!” you whined.

You swear his head could’ve popped like a balloon right now and immediately grown back with how quickly his expression shifted from concerned, to shocked then appalled.

“Oh hell no! How dare she hit on me when I have my pookie right here!? I will literally get your face tattooed on my chest so if a woman ever dare to approach me I’d rip my shirt open like superman to show it off then start barking! ‘Stay away, I’m taken!!!!!’”

“…then they would get to see your chest.”

“Okay nevermind, maybe that’s not a good idea.”

You laughed at him before wiggling your arms out of the blanket cocoon to hug him. How could you stay mad when he was so cute? A wide smile stretched across Satoru’s face as he stopped supporting his own body weight, flopping on top of you and returning your embrace.

“You’re not mad at me anymore?” he asked, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

“M’not mad anymore. I might have to get you a collar though, make sure everyone knows you’re mine,” you joked.

Little did you know that Satoru was now plotting something.

It’s been a while since that girl approached Satoru, never returning and thus causing you to forget all about it. Your boyfriend stayed true to his word, screaming and barking at whatever girl tried to hit on him after that like a lunatic. You really couldn’t tell if it was a good or bad thing at this point. Unfortunately for you, it was a friday and you had class while Satoru was off for the week. He walked with you to your first class of the day like he always does then returned home to do whatever it is he spends his time on while you’re away.

Typically, he would laze around the apartment, yelling at people online while playing first person shooters or rewatching every single Batman movie for the billionth time. But today, he had something else in mind. Today happened to be your 3-monthaversary. Very middle school esque, but Satoru couldn’t help it. You were his first everything and the only girl on his mind. He spent the day decorating his room, scattering rose petals down the hall and setting his LED lights to red, aka the freaky color.

“Toru, I’m home-“ you stopped in your tracks after walking through the door. All the lights in the house were off, save for the little battery operated tea candles leading to your boyfriend’s room. You were confused, but followed the candles and rose petals nonetheless. Upon entering his room, you saw heart shaped balloons floating about the space, more rose petals on his bed with your Toru lying propped up on his side in the middle of it all. He’s shirtless with a rose between his teeth and a gift basket in front of him. You couldn’t help but let out a hearty laugh at the sight.

“You dork, what’s this all about?”

"Today marks three months of us being together. Now come get your present!"

You laughed again, this time amused by his enthusiasm, and sat in front of him on the bed. There were so many different things in the gift basket he so lovingly put together for you. There were snacks, refills of your favorite makeup and skincare products, your favorite scented candle and a cute little plushy. In between all those things was a long, short box that you couldn't even begin to guess what was in it.

You glanced up at your boyfriend who was buzzing with excitement before opening it. Upon removing the lid, inside was a baby blue collar with a heart shaped tag on it. You raised an eyebrow in confusion before flipping the tag over to read what it said.

'If lost please return to Y/n L/n'

Your gaze switched between the collar and your boyfriend a couple times before putting two and two together.

“Well…that one’s kind of for me….but it’s still your gift!”

“C’mere then! Let me put it on you,” you beckoned him closer with a smirk.

Satoru wastes no time in leaning closer to you, head tilted up slightly so you can wrap the collar around his neck and buckle it at the front. You sat back to admire the sight of it around his neck, the blue leather matching the very shade of his eyes. You caressed his hair and moved your hand down to his cheek, cooing while he leaned into your touch. After a while of this, your hand moves down to his new collar, giving it a gentle tug towards yourself which elicits a whimper from the male before you. Amused by this, you pressed your lips against his own, keeping your grip around the leather adorning his pretty neck.

Satoru continued to whine and moan into your lips, always being this vocal whenever he’s feeling hot and bothered. You pulled away from him, looking into his half lidded, pleading eyes.

“Oh, my sweet boy. I can’t believe you’d actually wear this for me.”

“Mmmh, I’d do anything for you,” he responds, trying desperately to press his lips back against your own, only to be stopped by the force of your grip around his collar. You chuckled at his needy yelp, lying down on the bed and gently ushering him on top of you. His hands roamed your body while you pulled him back into a kiss, pawing at your tummy, chest or whatever bare skin he could get his hands on. Growing even more needy by the second, Satoru decided that wasn’t enough and started to tug all of your clothes off. You let the white haired man do his thing before helping him shimmy his own remaining clothes off, leaving the both of your bare bodies pressed against each other. Satoru rested his body weight atop of you, slowly rutting his hips against your thigh, silently begging you for what he should do next. His head was resting against your chest, glossy blue orbs looking up at you through his long lashes that batted at you every time he blinked.

Grabbing him by his collar again, this time with both hands, you yanked him back up to be eye level with you once more. The man before you yelped in surprise, cock twitching against you at your newfound roughness.

“Go on, baby. Fuck me like you mean it.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice as he wasted no time into slipping inside of you. He shivered at the feeling of your slick walls engulfing him, shutting his eyes tight as he focused on building a rhythm. His mouth fell open into an ‘o’ shape, thrusting himself into you slow and soft. Unsatisfied with this, you decided you had to bring your boyfriend back down to earth. Satoru’s eyes snapped open and he was awoken from his daze by the sharp sound of a ‘slap!’ and the stinging sensation in his left cheek. He let out a loud moan and his hips bucked up into you before stilling completely, trying his hardest not to cum then and there.

“Eyes on me, pretty boy.”

Shifting his gaze back up to you and seeing that pretty smirk you always wore, he couldn’t help himself for much longer. Wrapping his arms around your waist he quickly began plowing himself into your dripping cunt, doing nothing to contain the breathy ‘aah’s and ‘ohh’s slipping past his kiss bitten lips. He did as he was told, holding eye contact with you as long as he could. Every time his gaze began to slip away or fade out of focus, he was always brought back by the warm buzz each time your palm struck him. Despite your rough behavior, you continued to let out loud moans of your own as a way to let your darling boyfriend know he was doing a good job.

The room was filled with the sounds of your shared pleasure, the rhythmic squeaking of his bed frame and the sticky ‘plap! plap! plap!’ of his hips meeting yours. Satoru’s body was flushed a pretty shade of pink, skin coated in a sheen of sweat that clung to your own. A mischievous grin spread across your face, letting out an amused laugh when you pinched one of his pert nipples and his hips began to stutter.

“Mmmnh! Noooo, do that and I’ll cum!”

Ignoring his plea you continued your ministrations, legs locking around his hips and trapping him against you. His moans began to grow both in volume and pitch, signaling that he won’t last much longer.

“Cum with me! Fill me up, Toru!”

His pelvis snapped against you one last time, pressing his cock so deep inside you he might puncture a lung. Hot, sticky spurts of seed spilled into you as his back arched into you, head leaning back as far as your grip on his new collar allowed it to. Your legs tightened around him as well, keeping him pressed flushed against you as your weepy pussy gushed around him. Your juices mixed with his load, slowly dripping out from around the base of Satoru’s cock, leaving a creamy mess between your legs.

You let go of his collar and brought both hands up to cup his cheeks, whispering soft praises as you peppered kisses around his face.

“You did so well. My Toru always knows how to please.”

____________________________________________________________________________

taglist :) @sorenflyinn @ilovesugurugeto69 @iheartpotatoes @shutuppeter

it wasn't working for mobile sooo hopefully switching to my computer worked

[captainmalewriter]

The Jock Spell

With bated breath and blurry vision, Jeremy(?) stumbled over to the nearest mirror in the locker room. He looked at himself in the mirror while using the counter to hold himself up, and his jaw dropped when he saw his reflection.

“No, this wasn’t supposed to happen… Is that me?”

A couple of weeks ago, Jeremy Nguyen was just an average nerd with nothing particularly remarkable about him. He had a deep interest in all things fantasy-related. He graduated from college with relatively high marks and worked as a science teacher at his old high school. It wasn’t an exciting life by any means, but Jeremy was content with his simple, happy life. 

Aside from his usual nerdy hobbies, Jeremy had also started regularly hitting the gym ever since the new year rolled around. Sure he couldn’t lift more than 10 pounds and got tired after only about 8 minutes of light cardio, but it was the thought that counts. Not that it really mattered to Jeremy anyway. He wasn’t interested in becoming a full-blown gym rat or anything like that. Jeremy only started exercising so that his doctor wouldn’t give him yet another lecture about his health during his yearly physical. 

Jeremy pulled up to the gym one early afternoon. He normally went to the gym at night due to his busy work schedule as a teacher. However, thanks to an obscure local holiday, the schools were closed and he had the day off. Jeremy decided to switch up his usual routine and work out in the afternoon instead. He walked inside, did his warm-up stretching, and began his workout with some light hammer curls. The gym was surprisingly very packed that afternoon, especially compared to how empty it was at night. There were people everywhere! 

As Jeremy continued his workout, he noticed his gaze kept coming back to one particular man just across the free weights area from him. 

The guy was absolutely jacked from head to toe! Standing at 6’2” tall, he made a lot of other people in the gym look tiny by comparison. Jeremy watched with great awe as the muscular Adonis hit shoulders with dumbbells he could only ever dream of lifting off the ground, let alone work out with! 

However, despite the man’s amazing physique, Jeremy wasn’t attracted to him. He never liked the muscular look in men. Wasn’t really his type at all. Yet at the same time, Jeremy couldn’t stop looking at him for some reason. The man looked vaguely familiar. Jeremy racked his brain but couldn’t place his finger on it. It was weird. He tried ignoring him and just focusing on his workout, but then the man did something that made him remember exactly who he was. Near them was an overweight man who was struggling to get through a rep with just the barbell. The man watched him from afar and sneered like it was the funniest thing in the world. It was that cocky smirk that made bad old memories come flooding back in. 

The man’s name was Jared Taylor. 

That name and the arrogant smile that came with it haunted Jeremy for most of his teen years. To put it shortly, they had the stereotypical high school jock bully/scrawny nerd relationship you see in movies and TV. Jared loved teasing and making fun of others. Especially quiet nerds like Jeremy who played Pokémon in class after already finishing their work. Needless to say, Jeremy hated Jared with a passion. He was thrilled to finally be rid of the bastard when they graduated and went their separate ways. Jeremy went to study chemistry while Jared continued playing for some college football team. 

Jeremy never would’ve expected to see his former high school bully back in town. Thankfully, it didn’t seem like Jared recognized him (you would think he would after tormenting him for 4 years…) Plus, Jeremy always went to the gym during the nighttime anyway. He wouldn’t have to worry about seeing Jared Taylor ever again! 

Or so he thought. 

Much to Jeremy’s dismay, he kept seeing Jared every time he went to the gym. It didn’t matter if he went late at night or early in the morning before work, Jared was there— working out with some of the heaviest dumbbells the gym had to offer. 

Jeremy tried shrugging it off as mere coincidence, but his patience grew dangerously thin with every passing day he saw him. Jared’s cocky smile. His dominating presence. His haughty laugh just screamed, “I’m bigger, stronger, and just overall better than you!” Jared was already bad enough in high school, but he had only seen to have gotten worse with age! 

Then, on a random Saturday, Jeremy decided he had finally had enough. It was time someone stepped up and knocked the arrogant asshole down a peg or two. And who better to do it than the nerd he loved bullying every day? 

And so, Jeremy devised a plan to rid Jared of the one thing he loved more than trolling: his muscles.  Jeremy scoured through his massive collection of fantasy books and trinkets, searching for the magic he would need to pull off his plan. There were plenty of naysayers who didn't believe in magical powers, but Jeremy was never one of those muggles. He believed in magic ever since he was a kid and never stopped, even as he grew up. 

After extensive searching, Jeremy finally found a very old book of spells from back when he used to play D&D. The book puffed out a cloud of dust as Jeremy opened it for the first time in forever. An eerie smile emerged on Jeremy’s face as he read up on a spell designed to reverse a character’s stats and build. It was exactly what he needed to get revenge on Jared. 

Once he memorized how to perform the spell, Jeremy left for the gym that same night. Just as expected, Jared was there too. 

Luckily for Jeremy, the gym was empty that Saturday night, save for about a dozen people. The fewer potential witnesses, the better. 

Jared was busy hitting shoulders in the free weights area. Jeremy positioned himself so that he was just across from him in the cardio section. He had a clear shot of him. Once he was sure there was absolutely nobody watching, Jeremy set his plan into action. He used his fingernail to scratch the tip of his pointer finger until he bled out a couple of drops, then smeared it with his thumb and forefinger. Once that was done, Jeremy focused on his target and recited the spell. 

aketay awayyay isthay ansmay onfidencecay ybay urningtay imhay intoyay ethay ingthay ehay ateshay ethay ostmay

Jeremy’s finger shined a brilliant red as he finished casting the spell. A beam of light shot out of him as soon as he recited the last syllable, heading directly towards Jared. Jeremy smiled maniacally, knowing he was finally going to get his revenge after years of torment, though unfortunately, his pleasure was only short-lived. His smile faded as he watched Jared bend over to pick up a dumbbell, causing the spell to miss its intended target. Instead, the light hit the mirror, ricocheted, and hit Jeremy square in the chest, knocking him off the treadmill. 

God-DAMN IT!! How could I mess up such an easy shot!?

Jeremy writhed in agony. He couldn’t believe his plan failed just because of a little timing slip-up. Red with embarrassment, Jeremy forced himself to get up despite the great pain he was in. As he rushed over to the guy’s locker room to hide himself, the spell activated. 

Jeremy held his arms to his stomach as an intense wave of nausea washed over him. A strange warmth was radiating from his torso. His walking speed slowed as Jeremy found himself suddenly struggling to breathe. Low groans and growls escaped his mouth as his chicken legs exploded with body mass growth. It felt like his legs were on fire! The muscle fibers in his legs broke down and grew back rapidly until he had legs as strong and thick as a horse. Confused at what was going on, Jeremy looked down and audibly gasped when he saw his upper body transforming right before his very eyes. 

His chest puffed out as his pectorals grew and grew until he had a nice, firm set of daddy milkers. His shoulder span nearly doubled in length as the muscles in his back rapidly tore and regrew back within a matter of minutes. His arms thickened and hardened with muscle mass too. His once pencil-thin arms had become absolute cannons with biceps the size of melons and veins throbbing with strength. With a set of washboard abs to boot, Jeremy had become an insanely ripped bodybuilder— completely unrecognizable from his former skinny and weak nerd self. 

“Nnnn… What’s happening to me…!?” Jeremy huffed out a moan as forced himself to keep moving. He powered through the transformation pain and made it to the locker room where he could be alone. With bated breath and blurry vision, Jeremy stumbled over to the nearest mirror in the locker room. He looked at himself in the mirror while using the counter to hold himself up, and his jaw dropped when he saw his reflection.

“No, this wasn’t supposed to happen… Is that me? And since when did I become so… Jacked?”

Jeremy’s shocked expression morphed into a grin as he inspected his new body. Although he was never a fan of the muscular jock look, his tone quickly changed now that he was the buff one admiring himself in the mirror. He was practically purring with delight as he ran his hands over his arms, savoring the feeling of new, firm muscle on his body. Jeremy's original nerdy personality began fading away with every flex of his new muscles, leaving space for his new cocky gym bro attitude.

Then, wanting to get an even better look at his body, Jeremy stripped down to just his underwear. 

“Heheheh… Just LOOK AT MY MUSCLES BRO! I’M A GREEK GOD NOW!”

His voice boomed with newfound confidence as he spent well over half an hour just checking himself out. As he struck the double bicep pose, a sudden head pain brought Jeremy back down to reality. 

“Huh? What the hell am I doing?” Jeremy thought to himself. He massaged his forehead as he thought about the answer to his own question. However, the more he thought about it, the more questions about who he was began to pop up. 

“Who am I? What’s my name? What do I like? What do I dislike?”

He thought long and hard, but couldn’t find anything. It was like his own brain had been enshrouded in a deep fog. He kept thinking and thinking until for a brief moment, he had a glimpse of what seemed like an old memory. He was… Jeremy Nguyen? And he liked… video games, anime, and fantasy books— 

He shook his head. There was no way that description was right. He wasn’t a fucking nerd. Far from it. He took a deep breath and tried remembering his identity again. This time, the correct info came flowing in like water. 

His name was Isaac Nguyen and to him, working out wasn’t just a hobby but a lifestyle and a passion. He played football both in high school and in college, then dedicated his time and energy to bodybuilding once he graduated. His body was like a golden medal to him. It was his pride and joy, and he loved nothing more than getting a good pump and flexing in the mirror whenever he had the chance. 

With his new identity securely established in his mind and spirit, Isaac stepped out of the locker room to finish his upper body workout for the day. As he made his way to the free weights area, he noticed some scrawny dude with glasses struggling to curl a 10-pound dumbbell. Isaac had to stifle a laugh as he walked past him. 

“Heh, can’t even lift the beginner weight, what a fucking loser… Bet he spends all his time playing video games with his other dork friends. God, I can’t stand these kinds of dudes…”

As Isaac finished that thought, he ran into an old friend he hadn’t seen in a long time.

“Oh shit, Jared! Where ya been, bro!?”

“Long time no see, man! Looking swole as always, big guy!!” Jared responded. 

The two men pulled each other in for a bro hug. As they pulled away, Isaac felt himself hating the man he just shook hands with. It was weird. Like he had some sort of deep-rooted resentment against Jared. But that couldn’t possibly be right. Isaac and Jared were best bros since they joined the football team together back in freshman year of high school. They were basically the kings of the school back in the day! 

Yes, that’s right… Isaac was a jock, just like Jared. He had always been one. Never a nerd. 

Never.

[jkl-fff]

To the artists, the writers, the musicians, the creative people stuggling to create in this time of insanity when the world feels like it's on fire:

You ARE being helpful. What you do is so crucial. It keeps you alive, it keeps us alive, it keeps society and civilization and everything that is *good* about humanity alive. Art is what LIFE ITSELF is about. Art *is* LIFE ITSELF. You are keeping LIFE ITSELF alive.

The state of the world is incontestably awful (for now). It sucks and it's not fair. You are right to feel rage, sorrow, weariness. All of those are justifiable, emotional reactions to the horror and the corruption and the hate that seem to blaze around us (for now). And I don't blame you for wondering what the point is, for thinking creation is futile in the face of such destruction. I don't blame you for wanting to give up this fight. I feel that way, too. So many of us are grappling with despair. How could we not be?

HOWEVER. You ARE being helpful. Never doubt that. What you do matters, what you do makes a difference, what you do is a force for good and sustains people and keeps life itself alive. Never doubt that.

To the lovers of art, writing, music, human creations that bring us delight and excitement and passion and the will to keep living:

You NEED to tell artists that you love what they make. Now more than ever, it is *crucial* that you voice your appreciation.

Likes and Kudos and such are nice, BUT THEY ARE NOT ENOUGH (and have *never* been enough) to sustain an artist's creativity. They are *starving* for motivation to keep making art--*starving* for encouragement, positive reinforcement, emotional payoff, interaction to what they make--in the face of the horrors. They NEED you to give it to them ... or they might give up on making art.

TELL ARTISTS THAT YOU LOVE WHAT THEY MAKE. It doesn't have to be elaborate or in depth. Even something as simple as, "This made me happy, thanks for sharing it!" on a reblog or in the comments will make their day. It'll help them feel connected to people, help them feel like they're making a difference to brighten the world, help them to feel like their hard work is worth it.

Feeling rough lately.

[notlongtolove]

little hearts everywhere

it’s cowardly to run, maybe. but spencer has never made you feel like anything less than whole, anything less than loved. so, he shields you like it’s second nature. he doesn’t care where you have to go to feel safe. he’d follow you to the ends of the earth if you needed him to.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: hurt comfort

content: established relationship spencer helps reader deal with a panic attack and comforts her after

word count: 2.2k

note: based on this ask! i havent had any personal experience with panic attacks (at least not recent enough for me to remember what they are like vividly) so i really tried to research and read up on them to portray them accurately. if anyone has any notes or edits you think this fic may need please feel free to let me know!!

a line: The tear-tracked cheeks, the too-quick, too-shallow breaths—Spencer doesn’t think. He runs.

From where Spencer’s standing, it’s not so much a hug as it is you barreling out of the house and crashing into the first solid presence you can find. JJ barely has time to brace before you crash into her, her arms tight around your shaking frame.

That alone is enough to make Hotch raise an eyebrow and to make Spencer’s stomach drop. You don’t run. You don’t break. The only time you ever fight restraint is when Spencer insists on triple-checking your vest.

Hotch presses a finger to his earpiece, listens for half a second before nodding sharply in Spencer’s direction. That’s all it takes—They know. Morgan has the unsub, Prentiss has the kid, JJ has the parents. 

Spencer has you.

He’s already moving before he has time to think about it. He weaves his way through the sea of people, through the wailing sirens. 

You all get shaken up in the field. Comes with the job. But the way you collapsed into JJ like your legs just gave out beneath you—No, that’s something else altogether, though Spencer’s not quite sure what. 

Then he sees you shove away from JJ, like you can’t stand to be touched, and that’s when he knows. The tear-tracked cheeks, the too-quick, too-shallow breaths—Spencer doesn’t think. He runs.

“Fine—I’m fine. Go!” he hears you say through haggard breaths. JJ hesitates, torn between ushering the parents away from the crime scene and staying with you. But Spencer gives her the smallest nod to follow your lead. It’s better this way. The parents don’t need to see one of their rescuers unravelling. They’re already frazzled enough. 

Once JJ steps away, Spencer barely has a second to open his mouth before you cut him off. 

“Don’t.”

One word. A simple one. It’s been your cornerstone—for the job, for the entirety of your relationship, for him.

“Don’t,” you say when he comments on your caffeine intake.

“Don’t,” you say when he reaches out mid-shootout to pull you back—Hotch had taken your side on that one. That’s a danger to both of you, Reid.

“Don’t,” you say when he comes looking for you after you linger too long in a victim’s room, usually children, devastatingly stuck on the minute details of their lives.

It’s not that you don’t appreciate it. You just won’t be coddled. You refuse to be the subject of anyone’s soft concern, not when you’ve worked so hard to be taken seriously. You’re already the only one who can turn the team’s resident genius into mush with a single smile—you don’t need any more remarks about that, either.

Spencer understands. So when you say don’t, he doesn’t argue. But he doesn't step back, he doesn't even turn away. He stays beside you, hovering like a helicopter, yes, but doesn't move to do anything else. There are things he could do, things he wants to do, but not here. You wouldn’t let him, anyway.

Still, for all the ways you unmake him, Spencer unravels you, too. And knowing that the rest of the team is tangled in the aftermath of the arrest, you let yourself take the only reprieve you’ll allow your hurting self—Him.

“I—chest feels tight—can’t—hard to breathe,” you manage, still hunched forward, half from the weight of it, half so he won’t see the tears streaking hot down your cheeks. When Spencer softens and says, “breathe with me, baby. In for four, okay?” in the loving way of his, you know he sees your tears either way. 

You nod, barely, and Spencer thinks, for a fleeting second, that you’ve got a handle on it. That he’s got a handle on it.

Until your whole body tenses, and suddenly, you’re shooting upright, eyes wide and wrong. Your breath stutters into something sharp. “Can’t—” You’re shaking your head and clutching at your chest, fingers twisting into the fabric of your vest. 

“I—my chest hurts—it hurts, I—Get it off, get it off, please, take it off—”

Spencer’s already looking around, scanning the scene, mind racing. The unsub is in custody, shoved into the back of a patrol car, but Hotch hasn’t called a close on the case just yet. The scene is still active, officers moving, clearing the last corners, securing evidence. There’s protocol to follow. The unsub could—

But then he hears you. Really hears you.

The way your voice shakes, the way your fingers claw desperately at the straps of your vest, nails scraping against the buckles.

“Please, baby, I—please—”

That’s all it takes.

Spencer doesn’t think about the statistics. Doesn’t think about the 5.1% of criminals who manage to escape police custody, the 2.7% who do it even in handcuffs. 

He just moves.

“I’ve got you, baby, I’m getting it off, I—I’ve got you—” he promises, hands already working the straps, unfastening them as quickly as he can. His fingers tremble, fumbling in his rush, in his concern for you, but he gets it, yanking the vest free and tossing it to the ground. “Okay, baby, it’s off, it’s off—breathe for me, sweetheart, can you try—”

You stumble forward a few steps, your breath coming in a little too fast, a little too sharp. The pressure is gone, but the panic isn’t. Not yet. You can feel it still crawling under your skin, weaving its way between your ribs, coiling around your collarbones, clenching hard around your throat. Your body is caught between fight and flight, and flight wins.

You turn away from the flashing lights and move—quick, desperate—until there’s something solid between you and the rest of the world. A hedge at the end of the road. It’s not much, but it’s away. Spencer follows close behind, swiping a bottle of water from a paramedic’s open kit, keeping pace without crowding you. 

When you find a patch of shade that feels like solace enough, he automatically steps in front of you and places himself between you and the rest of the crime scene. 

It’s cowardly to run, maybe. But Spencer has never made you feel like anything less than whole, anything less than loved. So, he shields you like it’s second nature. He doesn’t care where you have to go to feel safe. He’d follow you to the ends of the earth if you needed him to. He’ll stand guard. He’ll be whatever you need.

“Baby.”

You hold a hand out to stop him before you even realise what you’re doing. He hasn’t even tried to touch you, hasn’t overstepped at all but—God, you don’t know why you did that. You can’t breathe, let alone think. Everything is too much. Your skin feels wrong, your limbs are locked up, your pulse is beating frantically in your ears.

“Why—what’s happening to me?” Your question comes out small and tight. It’s painfully timid and nothing like what you usually sound like. You look up at him through wet lashes and his expression—so full of aching concern—You could sink into him. You would, if you weren’t being held hostage by your own damn body.

“You’re having a panic attack, sweetheart,” Spencer says gently, “we need to slow down your breathing. Do you think you can try that for me?”

“I—I—” You nod, unconvincing, then try again. “Okay. Okay, I’ll try.”

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs. His voice holds something tender, something endless, something just for you. “Can I rub your back? Do you think that would help?”

Even now, he asks. He never assumes, never takes, never crosses a line without making sure it’s one you’re okay with him stepping over. Always the gentleman, Spencer Reid.

“I don’t—” You swallow hard. “Yeah. Yes. Please.”

Spencer’s hand is warm when it finds your back, tracing slow, sweeping passes. The other hand lifts to his vest, unbuckling it in practised motions, letting it fall to the pavement with a dull thud. And then—just as carefully—he pulls you in, lets you collapse against him, cradling your head to his chest.

“You feel my heart, baby?” he asks after some time. Spencer’s chin rests against the top of your head, one hand splayed against your back, the other smoothing over your hair. He feels you nod faintly, where your cheek is pressed to the fabric of his shirt. 

“It’s beating just for you, sweet girl,” he says again, fingers tracing slow patterns between your shoulder blades. “Let’s try to match it, okay?” 

Another nod, this one a little stronger.

Your eyes are shut, from what Spencer can see. He slows the strokes along your back and starts counting—instinct, habit.

You both stay like that for as long as he thinks you need to. Him, cradling and counting until he settles on approximately 120 beats per minute. Not quite where he wants it to be, but Spencer Reid has never been impatient with you. He knows progress when he sees it.

When he hears movement behind him, he glances back just in time to catch Morgan watching, concerned. Spencer shakes his head—not now—and that’s all Morgan needs before he disappears back into the fray. Spencer turns his attention back to you.

“Feeling better, baby? You want some water? I think it’ll help.”

You would roll your eyes if you had the energy for it. Typical Spencer Reid. The illusion of choice. You huff against him slightly, reluctant to shift from the comfort of his embrace as he hands you the bottle, already uncapped.

“That’s good, sweetheart. There we go.” 

You sniffle into his chest after a few weak sips. You hadn’t even realised how dry your throat was.

“Let's go home yeah?” Spencer murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to your head while he still has you in his arms. You manage a sluggish hum of agreement. 

The rest of the case is a blur. You keep your head down, press your lips into a thin line when concerned glances are thrown your way. Try to steel your voice when you assure Hotch you’re fine to help with the case file. He assigns it to Emily anyway. Spencer keeps his hand firm against the small of your back the whole time. Nobody says anything about it, and you don’t pull away.

On the way home, you keep his hand in your lap. Sometimes intertwining fingers, sometimes giving it a light squeeze. Spencer likes the way you trace the little hearts on his palm the most though. You’re looking out the window for most of the ride, he’s certain you don't even realise you're doing it.

The cushions swallow you whole when you get home, barely making it to the couch before exhaustion drags you under. You don’t even realise Spencer had slipped into the bathroom until he returns minutes later, sleeves rolled up, towel slung over his shoulder. “Ran you a bath, honey.”

He kneels in front of you, hands moving—boots first, then socks. When he reaches for the buttons of your sweat-slicked shirt, there’s nothing clinical about it, nothing but tenderness. He peels back the fabric, undoes your pants with the same gentle efficiency, and you could cry from the softness of it. 

The word love just doesn't do Spencer Reid justice. The way he loves you—It’s utter devotion, raw and unfiltered. 

You whimper when he sets you down in the bathroom. You don't want to be alone right now. 

Does he still think you want that? That you need space?

You don’t.

Your fingers clutch weakly at his shirt, and Spencer stills instantly.

“Stay?”

His expression softens, surprise flickering for only a second before he nods. “Of course, baby. Anything you want.”

Then he undresses, too. You watch as he steps into the water first, sinking down against the porcelain, testing the temperature before looking up at you again.

“Cold?” you ask meekly. 

He shakes his head, watching you with that same quiet, unwavering adoration in his eyes. “S’perfect. Just like you,” he says, offering you a hand. You step in, easing down until you’re tucked against his chest, his arms circling you. They make you feel safe in a way you hadn’t all day.

His hand moves in slow, soothing circles along your legs. You have them tucked tight to your chest—not for space, though that's what you hope Spencer assumes. In actuality, you’re still unraveling from the aftermath, still trying to convince your body that the danger has passed. 

Spencer starts tracing patterns on the knobs of your knees that you can’t quite decipher—Absentminded, maybe. Intentional, always.

“That was scary,” you admit after a long moment. “I was scared.”

Spencer leans forward slightly to press a lingering kiss to your temple. He tries not to let it show how pained he is from the fragility in your tone. You feel him sigh before he speaks. 

“Mmhmm,” he murmurs, “It was, wasn’t it? I was scared too,” he says, lips grazing your damp skin. “But you did so well for me.” 

He presses another kiss to the shell of your ear. “So proud of you,” he breathes. “My brave girl.”

You exhale, shakier than you’d like, and lean back into him, eyes slipping shut. Melt is the word. You finally let yourself take it all in. The rise and fall of his chest against your back, the soft sloshing of the water around the both of you, the fingertips kissing your skin in small designs. 

That’s when you feel it.

Little hearts, pressed in careful patterns against the slope of your thigh, the slant of your calf, the curve of your hip. 

Little hearts everywhere he can touch, little hearts everywhere you can feel. 

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you so much for reading! likes, comments or reblogs are very much appreciated!

[unabletonotlovesatoru]

“tsumu, c’mon. you know you can’t just sit here all day.”

atsumu lifted his head from the counter, fixing you with the biggest, most ridiculous pout you’d ever seen. his eyes were wide, downright pitiful, and paired with the way his lower lip jutted out, he looked like a kicked puppy. you snorted, shaking your head as you leaned forward against the counter, resting your chin in your palm.

the shop wasn’t packed, but it was never truly quiet either. soft conversations filled the space, the hum of the kitchen blending into the ambient noise. yet somehow, atsumu made it easy to forget all of that—probably because he was draped over the counter like a housecat demanding attention.

“why not? it’s my day off,” he whined, stretching his arms out in front of him dramatically. then, he shot you a lopsided grin. “thought ya liked havin’ me around, angel.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the amused twitch of your lips. “i do. just not when you’re takin’ up space and bein’ a pain.”

“yer so cruel,” atsumu sighed, tilting his head to look at you, expression exaggeratedly wounded. “where’s the love? the appreciation?”

before you could retort, osamu’s voice cut through the space. “he botherin’ ya again?”

you glanced over to see him standing behind the prep station, arms crossed, wearing the same unimpressed look he always had when dealing with his brother’s antics.

“always,” you replied, lips quirking.

“unbelievable,” atsumu muttered, shaking his head. then, before you could react, he suddenly leaned in, his face dangerously close to yours.

“tsumu—”

he moved fast, pressing the lightest, quickest kiss to your cheek before you could pull away.

your brain short-circuited for a second, heat creeping up your neck. but atsumu just grinned, smug as ever, leaning back before you could properly process what just happened.

“that’s what ya get for teasin’ me,” he said, voice dripping with satisfaction.

“oi, don’t go kissin’ people across my counter.” osamu grumbled, though he didn’t sound particularly surprised.

you, on the other hand, were still recovering. “you’re insufferable.” you muttered, turning away to busy yourself with something—anything—before he could see just how flustered you were.

but from the way he chuckled, you knew he’d already noticed.

[marauder-misprint]

HIIII! I've read a bunch of your stuff and just saw that your requests are open- could you please do a Sirius x reader where reader is Remus' twin sister and remus is way too protective- even though she can defend herself, she's a werewolf too!

Hi! Thank you for the request ❤︎ I really hope you enjoy this fic. I took it as Remus being protective against prospective boyfriends. If you want see something with like dueling or pranks or something, message me ❤︎

Lupin's threats

Sirius Black x Lupin!reader

3k words

cw: angst, fluff

You never really minded that you and Remus shared friends. Being twins, werewolves, Gryffindors and bookish, you had a lot in common so it made sense that you enjoyed the same people and the same people enjoyed you. But that didn’t mean that there weren’t times when you wished you could have some things, or people, all to yourself. 

Sirius Black. He was one of those people. Remus befriended him first, they were roommates afterall. But then he introduced the two of you. You clicked. Of all Remus’ friends, you were closest with Sirius and that only grew over the years that you spent with them.

And you were there for it all. When the boys discovered Remus’ furry little secret, which was also your secret. When they became the Marauders, which included you. You were given the nickname of Star. Moony and Star, the werewolves. You were there for the creation of the map. You were there when James, Peter and Sirius managed to become animagi. You were a part of the group.

So it wasn’t odd or peculiar for you to be in their dorm. It was practically a second dorm for you. But, you always knocked before entering because they were boys and some things you didn’t need to see. 

You were going to study with them in their dorm. You started climbing the stairs when you heard their voices. They were loud and when they didn’t close the door, their voices carried. You couldn’t quite make out what they were saying so you kept moving. Then there was laughter.

“What, Moony? I can’t help it if your sister’s fit,” you heard Sirius say.

That stopped you in your spot, immediately turning your face red. Sirius thought you were fit? Remus didn’t have any other sisters… You certainly didn’t mind him saying that, if anything you loved it. One of your best friends, the one you developed a crush on sometime during third year, thought you were attractive. Part of you wanted to run up the rest of the stairs and into the dorm to hug him.

The continued laughter from the boys brought you out of your thoughts. You just smiled to yourself and turned around. You would study in your own dorm and let them have some boy time. 

To say that you were disappointed that Sirius never asked you out or even flirted with you over the next year would be an understatement. You tried to catch his eye. You tried flirting with him a little, not trying to push the limit. Nothing. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t catch the eyes of other boys though. You were flirted with. You were danced with at parties. You were even asked out, but every single one stood you up. It seemed like boys liked the idea of you but before it could ever bloom into a relationship, they disappeared. It certainly messed with your confidence. 

So you plunged yourself into your studies. It was a decent enough distraction. You can’t be upset and distracted by boys when you needed to memorize 30 different poisons, each’s symptoms and their antidotes. There’s no space in your mind when you have to create spell combinations for practice duels. You fought to be at the top of every class because if you didn’t, you doubted yourself in every single aspect of your life. 

In the quiet though, the doubts returned. They echoed in your mind as you pruned some plants in Greenhouse #3 for extra credit in Herbology. Not that you needed it. The insecurities frustrated you. Why had no one been able to show up to a measly date? You thought you were pretty enough, had a decent enough personality, an honest reputation. What was wrong with you? You started to take a little bit of your frustration out on the thorns and leaves you were removing. 

Snip. Snip. Snip. 

Then you smelled him before you heard or saw him. Cigarette smoke wafted through the greenhouse. 

“Don’t smoke around the plants,” you said automatically, turning your head to see Barty leaning over a plant and blowing smoke directly on it. 

“Nah, don’t worry ‘bout it. They like it,” he said, pausing to show you how the particular plant he was in front of seemed to lean into the smoke. “See!”

You rolled your eyes. “Or maybe you’ve gotten it addicted to nicotine…”

“But it’s not dead.”

“Yet.”

“Ah, don’t be no fun, Lupin,” he said, approaching you and pushing himself up to sit on the table next to the plant you were working on. “Whatcha doin’ in here anyways?” 

You watched him warily out of the corner of your eye as you continued to work. You didn’t know too much about him as he was a year younger than you. You knew he could be a wild card and his father was the head of a department at the ministry, but that’s about where your knowledge of him ended.

“Pruning.” 

Snip. Snip. Snip.

“Well duh. But why?” 

Snip. Snip. Snip.

“Extra credit. What’s it to ya?” 

He hummed as if considering your answer. 

“Do you want company? I’m sure I’m more entertaining than the lousy plants.”

“Why would you want to keep my company?” 

“Because I’m curious.”

You stopped mid-snip. 

“Curious?”

“Mhmm. That’s what I said.”

“Enlighten me, Crouch. Curious about what?”

“Curious about how a pretty girl like you got all those scars? I’ve been intrigued for a while now.”

You scoffed as you resumed your task. He was interested in the scars you got by being a werewolf. Classic. But he did call you pretty. 

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you…”

“Try me,” he teased, leaning forward. 

For a split second, an embarrassing second, you debated telling him the truth just to see what his reaction would be. But he was a boy you barely knew. He wasn’t one of Remus’ friends. There was no guarantee that he wouldn’t run away and tell everyone, resulting in you and Remus getting kicked out of Hogwarts. 

“Fought dragons when I was little.”

“Then why aren’t you burned?” 

“Who says I’m not?” 

Snip.

The conversation died there and Barty watched you work for a little bit. It didn’t take too long for him to grow bored and leave. You were surprised that he stayed for so long, although your mind repeated him calling you ‘a pretty girl’ until you were finished.

“Guess who got called pretty,” you sighed as you collapsed onto the couch next to Mary in the common room. 

The Marauders might be your best friends but that didn’t mean you disliked your roommates. Quite the opposite, really. You were a Gryffindor’s girl through and through.

“Plants talking to you now?” Lily laughed from the armchair next to you. 

“Ha. No, actually, I had a visitor in the greenhouses today.”

“Who?” Mary asked, turning her full attention to you.

“Crouch. No one special, but still - a compliment’s a compliment.”

You proceeded to recount Barty’s visit to the girls. You were blissfully unaware of the Marauders’ eavesdropping on your story. 

---

A few days passed before you crossed paths with Barty again. You tried waving at him. Maybe you could entertain his attention if he still wanted to give it to you. 

He definitely saw you wave. His expression dropped to something cold before he looked away, muttering something to the boys around him. It felt like someone dropped a bucket of ice water on you. Literally said he’d been intrigued by you for a while and now he wouldn’t wave back? Yet another blow to your confidence. You tried to tell yourself it was for the better, that there would be someone outside of Slytherin who could give you the attention that you desired. 

Your last period of the day was a free period so you retreated to the comfort of the common room. To your relief, Sirius was there, lounging on the couch with a cigarette hanging loosely in his hand. 

You sat on the couch and draped your legs over his, a comfortable habit you picked up ages ago that he never complained about. 

“Padfoot, why are boys so confusing?”

“Not sure what you mean, Star,” he replied lazily.

“Like I swear a guy will be flirting with me one day and the next time I see him, he acts like I got the damn plague!” you exclaimed, throwing your head back into a throw pillow. “What turns a guy off so quickly?” 

Sirius snorted and you immediately sat up and looked at him firmly.

“You know something.”

“About what turns a guy off? Yeah. I would know about that.”

“Padfoot! What am I doing wrong?” 

“Love, you’re doing nothing wrong,” he tried to assure you, gently patting your leg.

“That’s rubbish and you know it.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Please,” you laughed disbelievingly. “You called me fit forever ago and look at us. You’ve never flirted with me. You’ve never hinted at wanting to kiss me. So, there must be something wrong with me.” 

Sirius stared at you for a second before sputtering, “H-how do you know… I never told you… What?” 

You lowered your chin to give Sirius an unamused look, waiting for him to compose himself. His look of shock remained. 

“Last year?” you offered when he didn’t say anything more. “Unless Moony has another sister?”

“You, uh, so you heard that.” 

“Yeah.”

“Did you hear what Moony said in response by chance?”

“No?” You furrowed your brows. “I figured it was better to give you some guy time if you were talking about girls.” 

Sirius exhaled out of his nose in seeming appreciation. “Well, thanks for that, but you should’ve hung around for his response. Something about… you know…” He gestured to his crotch. “Cutting my dick off if I ever acted on or repeated that.”

“Remus said that?” you gasped, leaning forward.

He nodded. You swung your legs off his lap and jumped up from the couch. You started to pace as you were filled with rage. You ran a hand through your hair.

“Fucking hell…” you muttered. You started to walk toward the portrait hole but then you turned back. “Please tell me he had nothing to do with every bloke who’s flirted with me.”

Sirius grimaced.

“Every one?” you whispered.

“Every one he knows about or assumes. He, erm, makes sure it doesn’t happen again.”

You frowned and sighed angrily. 

“He was what, Charms right now?” you asked.

Sirius nodded. 

“Thanks, Pads. And if you ever decide you want to risk your manhood, I think you’re pretty fit too. Always have.”

Then you stormed out of the common room. You kept a determined pace until you reached Professor Flitwick’s classroom. Out of respect for the professor, you waited outside the classroom, leaning against the wall with your arms crossed and fingers rhythmically tapping on your arm. Anger was radiating off of you. You knew it was. The few students who passed you gave you one look before hurrying on their way with semi-scared expressions. It was even more so confirmed when Flitwick dismissed his class and every student who passed you seemed glad that you weren’t waiting for them. 

“Hey Star,” Remus said when he exited the room. 

He didn’t seem to have the same fear that everyone else had. He didn’t care that you were seething as you waited for him. You grabbed his arm and pulled him down the corridor to an alcove.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you asked bitterly.

“The same thing that’s wrong with you,” he said coolly. “You know, our furry little problems?” 

He smirked and that annoyed you. You slapped him. The crack of your hand hitting his face echoed around you. A curious passerby looked into the alcove.

“Keep moving,” you snapped at them before turning back to your brother. 

“The fuck was that for?” he gasped, holding his cheek.

“Have you been threatening every boy who’s looked my way?” you asked firmly.

The color drained from his face. “Oh.”

You laughed coldly. “Oh is right, you fucker. I ought to hex you into your next lifetime.”

Remus, ever a sloucher, straightened his back to stand at his full height, which was more than a full head taller than you. 

“I’m just protecting you. Boys are bastards who are going to break your heart. God forbid I make sure no one hurts my sister.”

“The only bastard around is you,” you spat. “I don’t need your protection. I’m fully capable of handling myself, thank you very much.”

You turned to leave. Remus reached out to grab your shoulder but you just jerked it forward so he had to let go.

“Star,” he called as you walked away from him.

You held up your middle finger. You assumed that he got your message when he didn’t call out again. You don’t think he realized how badly his actions messed you up mentally, but you were also upset that no one thought you were worth the risk of Remus’ wrath. Could he really be that frightening? You didn’t think so, but you were also his sister. 

From that moment, it became well known that you were beyond pissed at Remus. The reason behind your fury got lost in the gossip. All that anyone knew is that you were avoiding the Marauders as a whole and if anyone brought them up to you, you made it their problem. You also turned your flirting up to level ten. Anyone you considered passably cute, you charmed and if it seemed like it might go somewhere, you told them to ignore Remus at all costs. 

That, however, set off alarm bells in some of their heads and you were back to being dateless. You were reduced to sulking in the bell tower, somewhere few students went. It was actually a great place to be alone. You let your legs dangle off of one of the platforms, leaning against the wooden rail. You knew that the Astronomy Tower was where students usually went to sit like this, but you did want to be alone so you picked the less popular spot.

“You sure know where to hide, Star,” Sirius’ voice sounded from behind you.

You didn’t move. You didn’t respond. You didn’t look at him when he sat down next to you, letting his legs dangle as well. You didn’t have to wonder how he found you; you knew the answer: the map. Although a small part of you was curious how long he looked for you before turning to the map. You sat in silence for a while. Sirius swung his legs.

“So what do you want?” you asked with a sigh. 

“You said if I wanted to risk my manhood…”

That made you look at him. 

“I did.”

“I want to risk it.”

“Interesting.”

“Does… does the offer still stand? Or… should I go?”

“Oh, it stands. I guess I’m curious why now though.” 

“As compared to when?”

“Oh, I don’t know, a year ago?” you asked snarkily. 

“I figured it was just me that Moony would threaten. You know, he’s one of my best mates and siblings are usually off limits. I thought you would find someone else and I’d get over you. Except neither of those happened.” 

You let out a sad sounding laugh. 

“Hey,” he said, resting a hand on your thigh. “I really thought he was just waiting for someone he thought was good enough for you. Frankly, some of those blokes are complete gits and you dodged a bullet.”

“That’s not the point though, Padfoot. I thought I was undesirable. I thought I was the problem. How am I supposed to figure out who actually likes me and who’s worth my time if Remus scares everyone away?”

“He didn’t want to see you getting hurt.”

“But I need to get hurt. That’s how we grow. It’s not like I can’t handle pain. He should know that by now.”

“Yeah, he should. And I should’ve known that you’d be worth the risk. I should’ve flirted back.” He paused for a moment, smiling to himself. “Do you remember the first time you flirted with me?” 

You cocked your head to the side, trying to think back.

“Not really.”

He cleared his throat before speaking in a falsetto, “Padfoot, have you ever considered joining the quidditch team? You got really nice arms, you’d make a good beater.” 

You started giggling as the memory came back to you. Sirius joined in on your laughter. 

“I remember now! James burst out laughing. He said you’d never compete with their Prewett and Prewett combination.” 

“I mean, he has a point,” Sirius said, gently bumping into your shoulder. 

“Okay but listen. I was complimenting your arms, which are nice. Not my fault you can’t swing a bat.”

“It isn’t your fault. That would be Walburga’s sorry genetics.” 

“Not all of her genetics are bad.” You reached over to grab his chin, turning his face left and right. “You got that nice hair, good cheekbones, pretty eyes. Kissable lips.”

His eyes flicked down to your lips briefly with your hand still holding his face. 

“Kissable lips, you say,” Sirius repeated with a smirk. “Care to prove that?” 

You smiled and pulled his face closer to yours. You looked in his eyes for a brief second before pressing your lips against his. It was a quick and gentle moment, but it changed everything. You finally had your first kiss and it was with none other than the Sirius Black, the only boy you’ve ever had a real crush on. 

Sirius hummed when you pulled away. “Definitely not a problem with you. I could do that again.”

“Yeah?” you laughed with a sparkle in your eye. “Care to do it often? And in front of Remus?” 

“Only if you promise to protect my manhood. I actually am quite fond of it.”

“I can do that,” you murmur before pulling Sirius’ face back towards yours so you could kiss him again. 

[deathlygristly]

I find myself saying this phrase so often online these days: When I was 9 I read every book the local library had on the Holocaust. I remember being 9 or 10, looking up at the blue sky on a beautiful sunny day, and imagining the smoke rising.

WW2 became a special interest. In 8th grade we did a group project in social studies and each group got to pick a war. I told my group we were doing WW2, I did all the work, and the teacher told the other people they should kiss my feet for the A+ we got. I got that autism special interest power in me.

So it was pretty clear to me where we were headed when the hate and dehumanization started after 9/11. I remember in the days right afterward, I had hope. Hope that we'd come together, that we'd learn. But then the hate started, and the bombing, and the existential despair that I've been dealing with for over 24 years because we've been on this track since at least then. Some of us were on it well before, like for example Rush Limbaugh's Dittoheads in the 90s, but I think it was around then when it metastasized and started to spread to the rest of the body.

I don't try to warn people anymore. Well, I mean, warning now doesn't make sense because it's here, it's in your face, and if you still can't see it that's a personal choice that I can't help you with. But back in the day, I tried to warn people.

But they couldn't hear me, because Nazis were Other. They were Monsters, they were Evil, they were Them, not Us. Never Us. Even now I occasionally see people who support Trump and Musk who get offended at the comparison and immediately downplay it because to them Nazis are some weird amorphous Evil Other and/or just a word that "the libs" use as an insult, and not a clear example of what can happen when humans get deep into hate and hierarchy and othering and projecting their personal issues on people they deem of lower worth and denying reality.

On the other hand I have seen at least one example of a person who realized how many Nazis were agreeing with them and they started getting out and finding other perspectives, so there's that.

There's a phrase I often say: "Humans are gonna human." I use it to mean that humans are going to be short-sighted, impulsive, selfish, unthinking, conforming to a group no matter what, obsessed with status and hierarchy, irrational, and liable to do things that are extremely destructive to themselves and to others and to the planet. These are things that all humans do, and if you can't recognize it in yourself it's highly likely that it's because you're denying it and projecting it on to others in order to keep your idea of yourself as a moral righteous individual and to fit in with your clique of fellow moral outragers. That's a thing that humans do. ;)

If you can't give grace to others for being human you probably can't give it to yourself either, and you'll keep denying reality and projecting and hating and spewing your self-hate on to others in the grand human cycle of hatred and violence and destruction. The only way I know of to stop that cycle is to realize you're part of it and to work on yourself while giving grace to yourself and to others.

And no, that doesn't mean letting people who do serious harm get away with it. Simplistic black and white thinking like that is another thing that is humans being human and that we have to work on. It just means that, I don't know, if you're ever in the position to punish people who did serious harm you do it with justice instead of just doing what they did to you back to them. You can be imagining them suffering the way they made other people suffer the whole time. That's okay. But you can't actually starve them or beat them to death or put them in camps or gas them and burn their bodies in crematoriums, because then you have become them.

Basically, inside of you there are two wolves. ;) One is Fenrir, ready to set the world on fire. The other is just a normal wolf trying to live its life and be a natural part of its ecosystem. You gotta do your best to feed the normal one, because if you let Fenrir go you'll be the one turning other humans into smoke.

I thought it was fairly normal to feel empathy for bad people.

I thought it was common, even.

But after my Elon/Grimes post... now I'm wondering if I was mistaken about that.

I wrote a post about Trump being traumatized after his assassination attempt and a post about his poor adaptation to aging. I expressed sympathy for him in both cases. But I still maintain my white hot hatred of him and wish for him to face consequences.

Elon was abused by his father. Some of the stories are incredibly tragic. Hearing those stories triggers an involuntary response in my emotional systems that I can't stop no matter how much I despise present-day Elon. I also wonder if that abuse never occurred maybe we wouldn't be dealing with this current clusterfuck.

I have never held so much anger towards a single person as I do my brother. But I also see him as a victim of abuse. I know he was once a really good person and he was slowly corrupted. I feel sorry for him. I mourn the amazing person he used to be. And I still love him.

But that doesn't make me any less angry.

[hotchnersangel]

MISS POSSESSIVE

Aaron Hotchner

a/n: BEEN OBSESSED W TATE’s NEW ALBUM SO HEREEEEEEEEE. ilyilyily.

cw: jealous!reader, established but secret relationship, innuendos of sleeping round (slay x), supportive hotch.

———-

The new ‘member’ of the team, a temporary member filling in for JJ had some nerve on her. Since her arrival she had made her attraction to the Unit Chief, Aaron Hotchner very noticeable and despite your relationship being private and well… secret, you realised that she was bringing out a horrible side of yourself.

You were sat in the briefing room, debriefing a case you just got back from when you notice how she is eying Aaron. Her baby blue eyes undressing him with intent and fire as she burns a hole through his clothes from across the room.

You pretended you didn’t notice for a few weeks now but you couldn’t hold it any longer. You took it as a compliment that she wanted YOUR man, but it was getting too far now. She had already pronounced herself as a ‘player’ to the group when she delved into the topic of her love life on a night out with her, which you supported her actions verbally, telling her to ‘live her life to the fullest’ and ‘get that dick, girl!’ but soon you’d have to teach her which to stay away from. Immediately, seeing her obsession with Aaron made you see her as an enemy, not a friend. Yeah, no one exactly knew you were together but god damn was it frustrating for you to watch them interact. The sheer thought of her thinking about taking your man home makes you furious.

It was late, around one am by now, the case being extremely long and exhausting which meant you were feisty and snappy and would put up with no shit from her.

“Aaron you need a break after this, you’ve been working so hard.” She says ‘innocently’, fluttering her eyelashes at him with concern. You fight the urge to roll your eyes as you tighten your jaw.

“The team will be given two days rest, I’ll ensure it personally.” He nods and chooses to ignore the flirtatious innuendo by the stupid bimbo trying to take your man.

You need to calm down, you tell yourself, taking a deep breath.

“Maybe we should get dinner or something?” She offers, again… innocently and if she wasn’t closing in on your man, you’d applaud her. This gesture makes you livid. She has just asked him on a date and you are finding it hard to bite your tongue. Aaron looks towards you, giving you a reassuring look that he isn’t bothered by her moves and quickly he shuts it down.

“I’m going to head back home, I suggest you all do the same.” He nods to them as everyone stands up ready to go.

“Just one meal, you need a nutritious meal after that case Aaron- let me take care of you.” You snap at the sight of her hand on his arm. You clear your throat.

“Get off my man,” you say with humour, trying to keep the tone light. This causes a round of laughter also coming from her.

“You’re funny.” She grins at you and laughs but your smile then fades and you zone in on her.

“No, seriously… get your hands off my man.” You say with a sharp face and the room falls silent.

Her hand drops from his arm at the intensity of your tone, her eyebrows pulled together and a frown caressing her lips. You watch as she takes a step away from him and towards you.

The team surrounding you have a shared reaction of shock, confusion and a hint of amusement. They knew you to be loud and bubbly, but never in a way that cuts at people- so, this took them by surprise but overall, there was a round of smirks shared through looks between them. ‘I knew it’ was chucked through sound waves on a length that only they had frequencies to. Emily and Derek whistled lowly, sitting back down in their chairs to watch the interaction unfold.

Aaron was stood still, staring intently at you with a look of warning. Not because he liked what was going on, but because he could see how angry you were. It was a look full of concern, worry and almost a slice of fear. He crossed his arms and thanked anything and everything that he was not in her position right now, because if looks could kill, this ‘bimbo’ would be six feet past death.

“W-what?” She stumbled, looking at you.

“You heard me.” You stand tall, looking at her intently now. “Look at anybody you want, take home anybody you want… but keep those eyes of yours off of him.”

“I- why are you acting like it’s a problem now? I’ve been flirting with him since I got here.” She defends and steps closer to you and you smirk.

“And has it once been reciprocated?” You continue smirking as you now take a step closer to her, staring up at her intently. Though you may be shorter than her, you were a whole lot more intimidating.

“And if it has?”

“It hasn’t and it wouldn’t.” You shoot back, a cold expression kissing your face. “You’re a pretty girl honey, but you need to learn your lesson that men who show you nothing in return don’t deserve your attention.”

“How long have you even been together?” She inquires, testing the waters.

“Long enough to know that there’s some fights you’re never going to win.” You shoot back and she frowns.

“I- I’m sorry I didn’t know-“ she says, looking towards Hotch who shakes his head.

“I’m not the one to apologise to.” He says with a straight face, moving so he is standing beside you now. “My lady is who needs an apology.”

“I’m sorry- I- I didn’t mean to cross boundaries I just thought-“

“Wrong. You thought wrong. Now, I forgive you but i suggest you tone down the flirting with my boyfriend. Okay?” You shoot back, your tone still a bit snippy as she walks away and you’re left with the team gawking at you both.

“Okay- what the fuck.” Emily breaks the silence with a laugh which crashes the tension that had built up.

“Miss Possessive over here, hello.” Derek comes over and teases you, playfully poking you and you roll your eyes.

“I’m sorry but it was getting unbearable.” You laugh softly and shake your head, “I hardly went off on her.”

“Yet you scared the poor girl to death.” Rossi adds and the team nods.

You gasp playfully, “did not.”

“Oh honey, you definitely did.” Aaron grins and places a kiss to your forehead.

“Now can we talk about this-“ Garcia adds, pointing her finger between the two of you.