#and even the worst case scenario will still be OK

[natural-blogarithm]

it's slightly more comforting to read the guides for med students studying how to treat stuff than to read the guides for patients, even though i don't understand everything. feels less patronizing and i like having more information beyond "go to your doctor if you have X symptom" (which i have already done).

[teenagefeeling]

i think it's kind of insane to claim that the internet was safer for kids 10-20 years ago than it is now. when i was in middle school all my male classmates were watching beheadings and my female classmates were getting groomed by old men on omegle

[light-wrath-paradise]

No I am pretty sure it actually isn't the norm to make a movie poster for your My Hero Academia OCs but go off I guess

everyone should be weirder about their ocs more.

[mariasont]

JUST THE TIP(S) - A.H

aaron learns the hard way that upping your maintenance allowance has unexpected, explicit perks. especially when you insist on showcasing your newest investment while he's stuck miles away.

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader warnings: 18+ MDNI, sexting, nsfw imagery, exhibitionism? (in the form of pictures), references to masturbation, workplace inappropriateness, power dyanmics (boss/employee), dirty talk, sugar daddy hotch vibes wc: 1.7k request: here!

Hotch attempts to read the file in front of him again, just to keep himself busy, but it starts to resemble gibberish somewhere between the countless victim timelines and his unwavering staring contest with the phone screen. 

Nothing. Still nothing. 

It’s been, he glances down for confirmation, thirty-nine minutes since he hit send. Not exactly long enough to panic. Yet here he is, panicking, because your replies normally land instantly, punctuated with frantic emojis, a parade of exclamation points, and nonsensical crises like:

i just made toast and almost caught my sleeve on fire but it’s ok now !!!! 🤭

So, yeah. Thirty-nine minutes feels like a small eternity.

Last week, he had upped your spending limit. You murmured something vague about having a bad day. You didn’t supply any specifics, no dramatics, just an innocent observation that he instantly took as an urgent call to action.

He logged into your account and adjusted your monthly extras, expanding that little safety net you didn’t even know he color-coded as you-time on his accounting spreadsheet. 

It wasn’t even remotely about the actual money. How could it be, when you were always giving pieces of yourself away — filling his silence with your easy chatter, kissing his frown lines, leaving perfume on his pillow (and everywhere else). So if a few extra hundred dollars meant more wellness appointments or a couple frivolous purchases that could help you feel more like yourself, it was the easiest, most obvious choice in the world. 

This is what he attributed your lack of response to. You’re probably out using that buffer right now.

He doesn’t need to spiral.

But he does anyway. Because when he’s not around, you have a tendency to forget to hydrate, to neglect to eat anything remotely nutritious, to lose yourself in shiny distractions, and his mind, unfortunately, never seems to shut off where you’re concerned.

He digs the heel of his hand into his forehead, trying not to jump to worst-case scenarios. He’s not clingy. Definitely not the kind of boyfriend who sends another text after less than an hour. 

Still, he nudges his phone a bit closer, strictly precautionary.

It takes exactly fifteen more agonizing, anxiety-inducing minutes — minutes shaped like big neon question marks — before the phone finally buzzes.

You: hi bossman !! miss ur grumpy face sooooo bad it’s criminal (arrest me??) how’s the case?

He exhales through his nose. His first thought is to correct you, to say that he’s definitely not grumpy, but his fingers pause, and he erases it instead. 

He is grumpy, though he’s fairly certain it’s directly correlated with how long it’s been since he’s since your face.

Hotch: Miss you too. Case is fine. Hopefully wrapping soon. Should be home late tomorrow. What did you do today? Everything okay?

You: yay !! can’t wait to see u ! got my nails done 🩷 they’re sparkly pink and sooo cute wanna see?

He snorts once, rubbing his thumb over the edge of his phone.

Hotch: Somehow I already know exactly what they look like.

He pauses, considers, then quickly adds,

Hotch: Send them anyway.

Hotch expects something wholesome, mundane even, manicure displayed prettily around a cup of overpriced coffee (a staple for you) or maybe the steering wheel of your car. 

What he receives instead is categorically, devastatingly the antithesis of wholesome. Completely unfit for polite company. His phone nearly plummets to the floor accordingly, eyebrows already halfway to his hairline.

Your new nails, as glittery as you advertised and innocent enough in isolation, become fully obscene in context, pussy spread wide, your fingertips highlighting slick, swollen folds and a flushed, glistening clit practically begging for attention. 

Hotch has always considered you beautiful — insanely, impossibly so — but this vision of you. A vision where you’re open, soaked with a brazen sweetness that borders on indecent, surpasses beauty entirely.

It’s sinful, artful perfection crafted with the sole intent of his demise. No matter how quickly he closes his eyes, the image is now seared permanently into his brain, burnt onto his retinas in dripping pixels.

Hotch never could fathom why anyone would willingly risk sending something so compromising. It spat in the face of good judgment and flagrantly ignored every articulated piece of advice he’d ever given. He’d lectured until your eyes glazed over about internet safety, how every text you send is stored indefinitely in some obscure digital archive, potentially retrieved at the most inopportune times. 

He was certain, perhaps arrogantly so, that you’d internalized his paranoia.

How wrong he had been.

Because he now stands staring at the evidence of your rebellion, humbly acknowledging that he himself has become precisely the sort of fool he’d warned you about, happily entrapped by the irreverence of a single photograph.

The only genuine risk Aaron can currently recognize is the frankly painful strain of his cock pressing against his zipper and the fact that you’re hundreds of miles away. 

He draws in a sharp, shaky breath through gritted teeth, silently pleading with unapologetically indifferent cosmos to grant him patience. 

Or teleportation.

Hotch: Gorgeous nails, sweetheart. Clever use of your resources, though next time save me the torture and just show me in person.

You: glad u like them 😇😇 maybe consider it motivation to hurry home faster?

Hotch: Duly noted. If I close this case in record time, you’ll know exactly why.

You: i can always send additional inspiration if it helps your productivity 🥰

He doesn’t remember making the conscious decision, and frankly, he doesn’t care enough to second-guess it now, because his palm is already moving, instinctively pressing down to relieve the unbearable tension straining his trousers.

He’s halfway through typing out his surrender (a blunt, undignified Yes. Now.) when a sudden, sharp knock jerks him brusquely back into a reality that pales considerably compared to what he’s just been forced to abandon.

His thumb stalls above the send button then pockets the phone, exhaling through his nose as he smooths the front of his tie with a touch more vigor than necessary.

If he were honest, and lately honesty seems unavoidable, another second spent alone with your message would inevitably lead him to doing something highly inappropriate beneath the desk, your name hissed quietly against clenched teeth.

By the time he reaches the door, Hotch has resigned a reasonable facsimile of composure.

At least from the waist up.

He cracks the door open cautiously, standing at an awkward, stiff angle, hoping that Rossi won’t notice the disarray happening beneath his belt.

“Local PD's still caught up arguing procedural technicalities,” Rossi drawls, seemingly unaware. “Apparently, nothing moves forward without our explicit approval.”

You’ll have to wait. And so will his dick.

The so-called procedural technicalities take three hours. Three. hours. One hundred and eighty increasingly insufferable minutes drowning in bureaucratic drudgery, combing through details Hotch is positive he could recite while heavily medicated. He pinches the bridge of his nose, attempting to fend off the migraine steadily encroaching.

He’d managed the polite, dutiful thing — a succinct, thoroughly unsatisfying reply to you about responsibility and paperwork, the kind of message that made his own eyes roll at its dreariness compared to your far more compelling offer.

And now, each monotonous signature is underscored by thoughts of you, each image progressively more not-safe-for-work than the last.

He pictures your nails, painted in that damned color you loved so much, wrapping firmly around his cock, stroking with leisurely hands. How good it would feel. How you would lean closer with thay look in your eyes, lips parted, whispering filthy words that would make the tips of his ears bleed red.

He loved spoiling you, sure, but secretly, selfishly, he knew the real reward came later, when your fingertips traced up and down each vein of his length.

His daydream splinters to pieces as another officer delivers a statement so inane, Hotch considers, with alarming sincerity, the merits of repeatedly banging his head against the wall.

Before he can fully commit to a public crisis of faith in his career choices, his phone vibrates in his pocket.

Stupidly, he sneaks a quick look,

You: bet that paperwork has you wound up tight. when u get home, feel free to fuck out all that frustration. im yours however u want me <3

Hotch snaps his phone off with such force he’s briefly amazed the device doesn’t shatter.

He redirects his gaze at the neat rows of law enforcement jargon before him, willing the flush spreading from his neck to his ears to retreat. He’s knows he’s past the age of blushing fits, but apparently, you delight in reminding him otherwise.

Hotch’s eyes briefly skim the room, double-checking that the rest of his team is sufficiently absorbed in their tasks.

Hotch: I sincerely hope you’re prepared to stand by that offer, he sends back, thumb tapping a bit faster. Because I fully intend to take advantage of your generosity. 

The familiar little bubbles of an incoming message appear almost immediately, punctuated seconds later by the ping of an attachment.

Hotch reopens the thread, only to be met with an image of your pretty hands cupping even prettier breasts.

Suddenly, he’s standing, brisk strides carrying him toward the hallway, a curt, excuse me tossed hastily behind him, already pressing your contact photo before the door swings fully shut behind him.

You answer on the first ring. “Hi there, handsome. Calling to check on me?”

Your voice, dripping with honeyed naivety, and the image of your tits still pulsing insistently behind his eyelids, sends an immediate rush of heat southward.

Hotch grits his teeth, resisting the temptation to flee toward the bathroom for a quick release.

“Do you really think you’re being fair to me? While I’m stuck here, of all places?”

“Fairness is subjective. Personally, I think it’s unfair you’re so far away when I clearly need your expert opinion on this manicure.”

“Expert opinions are usually best delivered in person. Very hands-on.”

Your giggle spills through the line, and Hotch is convinced it should be bottled and sold as medicine. How he managed to win the privilege of hearing it on demand is an eternal mystery.

“Aaron Hotchner,” you whisper, “is this how you typically behave at the office, or am I getting special treatment today?”

“You’re permanently on the receiving end of special treatment.”

Another giggle.

“Well, I fully intend to cash in on that privilege when you get home, and I advise your neighbors to consider getting some top-quality earplugs.”

He clears his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other to mask the fidgeting as purposeful adjustment. Unsuccessfully, of course. He can feel Morgan’s stare burning pointedly into the side of his head. Honestly, if roles were reversed, Aaron would probably be offering equally unsubtle judgment.

“Sweetheart,” he warns, lowering his voice, “you’re making it exceedingly difficult to pretend this call is work-related.”

“Fine, fine,” you say. “Go play nice with your friends and come home safely. I miss you.”

“I’ll be there as soon as humanly possible.” He inwardly rolls his eyes at his inability to maintain any credible authority with you. “Try to stay out of trouble until then.”

“No promises.” He can picture the smile on your face. “But I’ll do my best to keep your investment safe, these nails weren’t cheap, after all.”

“Careful. Because when I get home, I won’t be gentle enough to guarantee their safety.”

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[norrisainz33]

itll be ok || ln4

summary: the aftermath of jeddah when you weren't able to be there

pairing: lando norris x famous!reader (well established relationship)

warnings: hurt/comfort vibes. sad lando. bad language. also pls ignore time zones

a/n: the triple header hurt my feelings so here we are. this is def self indulgent but ln4 nation we rise again in miami

word count: 2,264

masterlist

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ⠀

you hurriedly threw your purse onto the couch of your new york city hotel room, barely noticing it bounce off the cushions and hit the floor with a dull thud. you turned on the tv with a quick press of the button, eyes immediately scanning for the familiar graphics of the f1tv broadcast.

it was saturday. quali day. and you were supposed to be soaking in the high of your final press tour stop, wrapping up interviews, meeting fans, attending industry dinners but your mind was thousands of miles away on a brightly lit street circuit in jeddah where lando was gearing up to push his car to the limits.

you had regretfully missed q1 and q2 due to back-to-back press obligations and a delayed ride from the studio which meant you’d only just now had a chance to sit down. but your heart leapt the moment you saw his name still on the leaderboard.

“ok,” you mumbled, kicking off your heels and letting them clatter to the floor. you crawled onto the bed, still in your dress, makeup smudged and hair sticking to your temples from the whirlwind of the day. the moment your head hit the pillow, your eyes didn’t left the screen.

q3 was underway. the camera panned across the glittering circuit, engines roared and you held your breath every time the papaya blur of lando’s car flashed by. he was on a flying lap, the screen showing purple sectors and strong exits.

then everything changed.

"lando norris into the wall!” one of the commentators cried, his voice rising sharply in alarm.

your heart stopped. “no, no, no, no -- NO!” you gasped, your voice cracking as you lurched upright in bed.

the screen cut to replay footage - dust and sparks, the slow-motion horror of carbon fiber shattering and his car spinning. you didn’t even register the gasp that tore from your throat. your hands flew to your mouth, eyes wide, breath shallow.

the camera zoomed in on the wreckage of the car and time completely froze.

every second stretched unbearably long, each one twisting your stomach into tighter knots. panic rose like bile in your throat, your chest aching from how hard it was to breathe. your mind spiraled with worst-case scenarios — what if he was hurt? what if something broke? what if?

then finally, mercifully, the shot changed. a figure moving and a radio message letting you know he was ok.

you let out a sob of relief, half-laugh, half-cry, as tears pricked your eyes. you clutched a pillow to your chest, body trembling from the adrenaline.

“ok” you whispered to no one, tears running down your cheeks. “ok. he’s ok.”

you repeated the words to yourself like a mantra as if saying them enough times would calm the tremble in your fingers or the ache in your chest. but the truth was, you only knew he was physically ok - walking, standing, uninjured but mentally was a whole different story.

lando was his own harshest critic. he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders all the expectations, the pressure, the comparisons and this triple header had been relentless and unforgiving. you’d heard it in his voice on every late night call, seen it in the way his texts had grown shorter, more tired, less like him. he hadn’t said it out loud but you could feel it: he wasn’t in a good place and it pained you to not be there for him.

you looked down at your phone which lit up with a flurry of notifications. texts from family, from friends, from people on your team, all asking the same question in different ways.

is lando ok? just saw quali. jesus. is he alright? are YOU alright? let me know if you need anything.

but your eyes only searched for one message and found it. it was from the ln4 admin who was one of the few people you trusted who was with him this weekend.

they’re taking him to the med tent. he is ok, y/n/n. i promise.

you clutched your phone to your chest for a beat, exhaling shakily. you wanted to be there. more than anything, you wanted to be there to hold him, to brush his curls off his forehead, to tell him that it was ok to not be ok. that he didn’t have to be strong for everyone all the time.

but instead, you were stuck in a hotel suite with tear-stained cheeks and a breaking heart in a place that felt a million miles away, waiting for the one person you wanted to comfort to call and let you do just that.

minutes passed. then hours. and you were still curled up on the edge of the bed when your phone finally rang.

lando. you answered before the second ring.

“lando?” you breathed out, trying to keep your voice steady. “baby, are you-"

his voice cracked before you even heard words. “hi.”

it was barely a whisper, strained and small and so far from the confident, easy tone he usually had. he sounded like he’d been holding back tears and had finally stopped trying.

“oh, lan,” you whispered, your heart breaking all over again. “talk to me.”

“i just -” his breath caught, and you could hear the tremble in it. “i’m so tired, y/n/n and i know the season just started but i don’t know what’s wrong with me. i don’t feel good in the car. i don’t feel like me right now.”

“you’re just burnt out my love. this season started off so quickly and you've been going nonstop for weeks. you’ve had so much thrown at you. it’s okay to feel off. that doesn’t mean something’s wrong with you.”

he let out a shaky breath. “i hit the wall like a rookie. like a fucking rookie. and everyone’s watching, waiting for me to mess up. i can feel it. and I keep trying! god, I’m trying so hard! but nothing feels right right now.”

the silence on the line stretched, heavy with the weight of all he wasn’t saying. you knew this part of him. the part that hated letting people down even when he hadn’t. the part that pushed and pushed until he had nothing left to give.

“lando,” you said softly, tears falling again. “you don’t have to be perfect. you never had to be perfect to be loved. not by me. not by your team. not by anyone who really matters.”

he sniffled on the other end of the line. “i wish you were here.”

“i know. me too baby.” you sighed. “i’d give anything to be there, to hold you and remind you how proud I am of you. not because of a quali or race result but because of the man you are, on your worst day and your best one.”

he didn’t say anything for a moment but you could hear his breathing which was slower now, steadier.

“i love you,” you whispered. “no matter what. no matter how fast the car is. no matter what the headlines say. I love you.”

there was a pause and then a soft, broken laugh. “you always say the right thing.”

“i'm just telling the truth baby.”

A long silence followed and you could hear him getting himself into bed. eventually lando spoke again, his voice still raw but quieter now.

“can you stay on the phone? just until I fall asleep?”

you laid back down on the bed, curling up with the phone pressed to your ear like a lifeline. “of course baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

and you didn’t. not even when the line fell silent and his breathing evened out. you stayed right there, whispering sweet nothings into the dark, tethering him to peace. because even if you weren’t in jeddah, you’d always be right there when he needed you.

after the race the next day, where lando had an incredible recovery drive going from p10 to p4, you had finally made it back to your shared apartment in monaco. you checked the time on your watch and let out a sigh. lando should be home in a few hours too but lando didn’t text when his flight landed. he didn’t call when the car dropped him off either. you only knew he was home when you heard the familiar rattle of keys in the bowl by the door and the soft thunk of his suitcase being set down in the hallway.

you were curled up on the couch where you had fallen asleep waiting for him in one of his quadrant hoodies. you sat yourself up and kicked the blanket you had been wrapped up in off. and when he finally stepped into the living room, you could see it all written across his face - the exhaustion, the weight, the sadness still lingering behind his eyes.

he didn’t say anything. he just looked at you.

you were on your feet, crossing the living room in a heartbeat, arms wrapping around his shoulders as he buried his head in your neck. no hesitation. no pretending. just him, finally home and finally letting go.

“i'm sorry for not texting” he mumbled into your neck, voice cracking.

“you don’t have to be,” you whispered, hugging him tighter. “you’re here. that’s all that matters.”

you felt him nod against you but he didn’t move. just stood there clinging to you like you were the only thing holding him together. eventually, you guided him to the couch letting him lay across your lap as your fingers gently combing through his curls as the silence stretched.

he stared at the ceiling for a while before finally speaking. “i'm scared,” he admitted softly, like saying it out loud might break him. “Iim scared I’m not good enough. that something’s changed. i keep doing everything right but… it still doesn’t feel like enough. i don’t feel like me in that stupid car.”

“you’re allowed to feel that way,” you murmured. “you’re not a robot, lando. you’re human and humans get tired. they get overwhelmed and make mistakes. they crash but they also get back up.”

he swallowed hard as he looked up at you. “everyone keeps telling me I’m doing great. that I should be proud but all I can see are the mistakes. the podium and top steps I've missed. the pressure I’m putting on everyone else.”

you leaned down and pressed your lips to his forehead. “you are doing great but it’s okay if it doesn’t feel like it right now. you don’t have to be proud today. i’ll be proud enough for the both of us.”

lando’s hand found yours, threading your fingers together, grounding himself in the way your thumb traced lazy circles on his skin.

“i don’t know what I’d do without you,” he whispered.

you smiled, “good thing you don’t have to find out.”

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ⠀

a/n: thanks for reading! likes and reblogs are always appreciated.

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ⠀

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[chaoticwriting]

Danny X Cass part 1

The tension is high in the Watchtower currently. It is bad enough that the JL get news that Darkseid plans to invade Earth a few weeks ago when suddenly the Teen Titans contacted the JL that Trigon might actually invade Earth soon too.

Currently all the heroes are discussing possible scenarios and plans to counter the attack when suddenly a shadow moves behind Batman and pocks his sides.

Batman turns and sees his daughter, Cassandra, looking at him. She starts making hand signs and confused Batman momentarily.

'Call Friend. Might help.'

"Who's your friend? Is there anyone else that can help that isn't here?"

To that question, Cass stalls for a moment. She seems fidgety like she is nervous about something.

'Old friend. Also hero.'

Batman thinks for a moment and decides to give in. He might have a way to fend of the invasion of Darkseid and Trigon at the same time but not without heavy casualties. That plan is only for the worst case scenario.

Giving a nod to her daughter, Cass immediately beamed and goes to a far corner of the meeting room. Batman looks at her daughter that looks almost giddy for once. He doesn't know who she is calling but if she trust the other person, then he is also willing to try to trust whoever she is calling.

Cass sits in a corner where there is no one else near her and pulls out an old cell phone. A green light shines from the phone as Cass turns it on and a text is received just as she about to message the person.

Danny 🥰❤️🥰

Danny: Hey Cass, would you be free for a date? I wanna show you something cool I just get.

Cass: Can't go. Trigon and Darkseid are invading Earth. Very busy. Dad is stressed. Can you help?

Danny: Sure. I can go beat up Trigon and I'm sure Dan would gladly go and beat up Darkseid. He's been complaining about not being able to have a good fight since I have become too powerful for him. 😎😎

Cass: Come in Phantom. Introduce you to everyone.

Danny: Ok now you are making me nervous. Should I bring your dad gifts? Should I wear a formal wear or casual wear? Oh no! What if your dad doesn't like me? 😱😰😨

Cass: Don't worry. Dad will like you. Dad is paranoid. But he loves me.

Danny: Maybe I should gifts him an ecto-weapon? I heard he likes to make contingency plans. Surely he would like me more if I give him stuff to fund his hobby.

Cass: Hobby?

Danny: Y'know. Making contingency plan. I think that is his hobby. Like I understand if he has 1 or 2 contingency plans for each heroes but doesn't he have like 50 for each heroes?

Cass: 😂💕. No bringing ecto-weapon. Might hurts you.

Danny: It's fine. I will give it to him if he asks. Anyway, where should I meet you?

Cass: Watchtower.

Danny:Alright. See you in a minute. Bye 👋👋

Cass: 👋👋

Cass puts down her phone and is startled when a purple hoodie peeks from above her shoulders.

"Ooooo, is that your boyfriend? No wonder you are so protective of that phone. How dare you not tell me you have a boyfriend? Does our friendship means nothing to you?"

The figure clad in purple says dramatically. Cass push her away and stares at her angrily. Even though she is in full costume the purple still knows when she is mad.

"Steph. Bad peeking."

"Sorry, Sorry. I can't help it seeing you so secretive like that. I promise I will not do it again."

Lies. Both of them knows Steph is lying.

"Anyway, who is that? You know you shouldn't tell our situation to outsiders right? B might be mad if he knows."

"B says ok."

"Oh what? I never get permission to tell people stuff. This is blatant favoritism."

Cass looks at her smugly. Of course she knows she is the favorite. That's why she knows Batman will approve of Danny no matter what.

A commotion rises suddenly from the center of the room and Cass and Steph turn towards it ready for battle. They can see the members of JLD panicking about something when suddenly a green portal opens right in the middle of the room.

From the portal, a tall figure steps out with powerful presence emitting from him. His silver white hair falls down to his neck and his black and white hazmat suit gives of the feeling of awe whenever someone looks at him.

All the heroes in the room get into a fighting stance except a select few.

"Hello everyone. I am Phantom and I am here to help."

The figure's voice is not loud but everyone can hear it like it is spoken right besides them.

Before anyone could say anything a figure bypasses everyone and sprints towards Phantom. Unfazed, Phantom spreads his arm and the figure flies into his arm. Phantom gives the figure a hug and she replies with a tighter hug.

"I miss you." Cass says silently.

"I miss you too." Danny whispers and sends the voice to her only.

While everyone is still confused and stunned on what is going on, Constantine curses and brings everyone's attention back.

"Fucking hell. Whatcha doing here kid? I never call you did I."

The figure looks up and stares at Constantine. Everyone starts to become nervous and thought the figure is going to attack them when he just smirks.

"Of course it is not you. You only call me if you need my help to deal with your ex or something. You should really stop dating all these interdimensional demons y'know. There are only so many times I can save you."

Phantom's rebuttal gets a few snickers and gasps from the crowd.

"Fuck you, kid. What are you even doing here? And why are you holding one of the bats?"

"Do you hit your head somewhere in hell, Constantine? What does this looks like? I'm going to eat her?"

That comment makes a few figures in the crowd tense for a moment before Constantine next word baffles them more.

"No fucking way. You're dating one of the bats. Fucking hell. I don't want to be part of this shit anymore. Y'all can go fuck yourself."

Constantine then picks up his flask and opens a portal to return to House of Mystery. Just as he's about to step into the portal, Superman speaks up.

"Wait, Constantine. We still need your help in dealing with Trigon and Darkseid."

John stops in his tracks and looks at Danny. He chugs down all the remaining alcohol in his flask before replying.

"If that kid can't handle this problem, then we might as well just lay down and wait for our demise."

He then steps into the portal and disappears. Everyone looks at Danny that is still holding Cass in a hug and the awkwardness can be felt in the air.

Danny releases Cass that releases a whimper that is picked up by a few figures primarily the big bat.

"So, hello. I am Phantom and as I say, I am here to help."

Part 2

[syntheticsymp]

Ghost as your shitty (and creepy) roommate

tw: masturbation, creepy!ghost

He was there again.

You felt his presence as a prickle on the back of your neck. A sixth sense you only seemed to have for him. The ghost who seemed to haunt your every step.

Or, more specifically, your roommate. Simon Riley.

The boiling hot water pelting your chest as it fell from the shower did little to distract you from the man you knew was there. He had been a part of so many stealth missions, yet you could hear the soft sound of his feet against the tile. He was there, and if he was making noise, he wanted you to know.

This wasn’t the first time this had happened. The first time you assumed was an accident. At least, he had acted like it was. He had even offered a gruff apology, not daring to meet your eyes incase it made you uncomfortable. You forgave him, of course you did! He was your roommate, and since there weren’t locks on the doors, it was inevitable.

But then it just kept happening. The second time you could brush off, but the third? The forth? Those were harder to look past. Now, he didn’t act as sincere with his apologies. He didn’t bother saying anything at all.

Through the small gap in the shower curtain, you could see his buzzed hair. The face you had grown to know, scarred and covered in acne from his mask, was reflected back to you in the mirror.

You could have sworn, for a brief moment, your eyes met his. But that connection was severed just as quickly as it formed.

With a flick of his wrist, he undid the button of his pants and opened the fly of his powers. You reared back, squeezing your eyes shut, not daring to look any further.

He probably just really had to pee again. Yeah, that was it. It wasn’t like there were boundaries like this in the military. And after being deployed for so long… you couldn’t blame him for being all out of sorts. He always was after coming back.

It would be fine. Really, it would. You just had to calm down and stop overthinking.

“Hrng-“

Ok, yeah. He was definitely out there. Best case scenario, he was taking a shit or whatever guys do. Worst case… you didn’t want to think about it.

You didn't want to think about the image your mind congured. Of him, getting himself off with no regard for you, standing maybe two feet away. Was he staring at your shadow through the curtain? Was he doing this just to torment you?

For the rest of that shower, you decided to live in denial. Listening to the sound of the water, conditioning your hair a second time just to keep from finishing early, pointedly ignoring the warmth growing in your stomach and the slick that followed, thinking about anything that wasn't him. It was a shit situation, only made worse by the absence of any sort of time marker.

It could have been seconds, it could have been minutes, but either way, the broken whimpers eventually came to an abrupt halt.

The clank of the toilet seat opening was followed by the unmistakable sound of liquid hitting liquid. You chose to believe Simon was just using the bathroom. It was such a strange wish, that you were hoping your roommate was peeing. But it was justified, since the other option was that the only thing that separated you and a man currently coming was one, thin shower curtain.

You were frozen. Unable to move as you heard him clear his throat, wash his hands, then walk out. He closed the door behind him like nothing had happened.

When the water turned cold, you finally found it within yourself to step out. You poked out your head at first, making sure Simon wasn't still there, before wrapping yourself in a towel and standing on the tile that made your toes curl. The steam from your shower heated up the mirror.

You cleaned it with the back of your hand, then grabbed your toothbrush. You started the sink.

There was something on your toothbrush you made sure to wash off before applying toothpaste. You must have dropped it or something. Simon must have picked it up on the way out.

Simon.

Brush, then spit. It was the one repetitive motion you could follow. It was mechanical. Instinct. A routine that wouldn’t be interrupted.

Not unlike your showers, apparently.

Though, it seemed more like some weird work of fiction than something that had happened. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. In fact, Simon had been telling you that you had been imagining things too much lately. You were just imagining your laciest pairs of underwear were clean, after all, he always found them for you. And the sticky liquid on your face when you woke up was drool, what else would it be? His words were always clipped, conversations short and to the point.

And if you brought this up to him again, he would just grow more annoyed. You didn’t want to be spineless, but you always didn’t want to lose your apartment. It was your home, after all.

Brush, spit, rinse, repeat.

You pat your face twice, the iced temperature of the sink helping ground you.

You knew you had to talk to Simon again. You just really, really didn’t want to. The man himself, you didn’t mind. But something about him was just a little off. And it wasn’t because of the mask, either. It was something else. Something more sinister. Something you didn’t want to see explode. If that rage was directed toward you, then you doubted you’d survive. You had only seen a glimpse of the man beneath the mask- Ghost, he had been called- when Simon came home drunk. You would be happy if you never saw that man again.

Shuddering at the memory, you put up your toothbrush and wipes the stray beads of water off your skin before slipping on the pajamas you had brought with you. They were in a neat little stack. A shirt, pants, and…

You were missing something. Underwear. You were certain you had brought them with you. They should be right there. Unless Simon-

Nope. It was fine. You had probably just forgotten them in your bedroom. You didn’t need them, anyway.

You slipped on your pajamas, grateful that you had chosen a ling pair of pants and an oversized shirt. The extra coverage would help your nerves. You could do this. Just put on a brave face and confront the problem head on.

That much you could do.

After taking a few deep breaths, you walked to the livingroom. Simon was in the same spot he always was. He had a beer to his scarred lips, slouched back, TV remote balanced on his knee as the Manchester game droned on in the background. It took him a moment for his eyes to meet yours.

“Spit it out, doll,” he said, placing his beer on the table. Alcohol always made his fragile temperament worse.

“Well,” you mulled over the words as you stood infront of him, like you were presenting a monarch with your case. “I think I heard you in the bathroom while I was taking a shower.”

He scratched the side of his face, irritating a patch of ache on his lower cheek. “So?”

You took a step toward him as you spoke, wringing your hands. “I told you last time that it makes me uncomfortable.”

“Had t’ take a piss. My place too, innit?”

Your cheeks heated. He was glaring at you like you were the one in the wrong. And the way he spoke, he could have convinced you he actually just was peeing. “Well, yeah, but if you could just wait next time, or knocked first, I’d appreciate it.”

His gaze flitted between you and the screen. He looked angry. Was he upset at you? You prayed he was wasn’t. You never wanted to see what he was like when he was truly angry. You started to take a step back.

Then, without warning, he reached out to you, wrapped his arm around your hips and pulling you into his lap.

“You talk too much,” he declared.

You tried to squirm away, but his grip was too tight, the muscles embedded into him from of his training. This wasn’t right, you couldn’t breathe. “Si-“

The beer on his breath hit you before his words. “Sit with me until the end of the game. Then I’ll let you go.”

He murmured the promise as if you didn't know the truth. As if he hadn't promised the same thing before. As if you couldn't feel his dick pressed against your ass.

Simon Riley was your roommate. You knew him. And you knew that once he came home from deployment, there was no escaping him. Scarred hands seemed to find their way to you, always searching, grabbing onto your soft skin wherever he could.

In his opinion, you belonged to him the moment you signed the lease. And he never let go of such precious things.

[gracie-eilish]

roommate!billie [pt 5]

au masterlist

warnings: making out, talking about smutty things but no actual smut.

an: sorry this took so long!! it was a holiday weekend in the US so i was crazy busy at work!! i’ll probably be less busy this week so hopefully i can finish up this series and get back to my pride prompts!!

roommate!billie, who practically floated through life nowadays, since you asked her to be your girlfriend.

roommate!billie, who treated you genuinely like a princess.

roommate!billie, who would be pacing around the room, nervous as hell when room selection day came.

being rising sophomores [second year of college/uni] meant you two had second to last pick when it came to housing. and the complete last pick when it came to upperclassmen housing.

you two had agreed, living in the dorms another year wouldn’t be be the worst, but an apartment on campus would be even better. at the bare minimum, you two live well together. clean, respectful of each others space and things, never had many problems about temperature and whatnot. that was just elevated now that you two were dating.

“okay worst case scenario, we could always do two single rooms sharing a bathroom? that way we each have space but we can just sleep in one or the others room every night.” you were rambling on and on, about all the possibilities you two could end up with. billie’s heart fluttered as every single one of them, ended with some explanation of how you’d end up in each others bed.

roommate!billie, who learned how to use pinterest when you shared a board with her, so you two could decorate your rooms to feel homey.

roommate!billie, who is now obsessed with pinterest.

roommate!billie, who thought she loved quiet nights with you before… but by god she loved them now. especially with the spring rain coming in almost everyday…

roommate!billie, who opened the window a sliver every night it was supposed to rain, so it would get chilly enough that you would snuggle closer to her in your sleep.

roommate!you, who didn’t even know where your little purple humidifier was at this point.

roommate!billie, who just had to ask…

“so, what is your obsession with sleep?” she leaned on the doorway of your bathroom, as you finished up some skincare. every product had some kind of relaxing scent, or some magical promise to help you destress and sleep better.

“oh god, i’m such a light sleeper! if i don’t do my whole like routine, i’m basically screwed. ever since i was younger, like genuinely a mouse could breathe in a silent room and it would wake me up.”

“huh,” billie muttered, still confused.

“what?”

“nothing, it’s just.. you always knock out like a light. at least when you sleep with me you’re always out so fast i can’t keep up.”

“really?”

“mmhmm. i look down to say something and you’re already drooling on my pillow.”

“i don’t drool!” you giggled.

“ok i’m messing with you there. but yeah.. you fall asleep so fast! are you waking up in the middle of the night?” she came up behind you in the mirror, setting her hands on the sides of your shoulders, rubbing the skin softly.

“well.. actually i- wow you know what i don’t think i am. i did in the fall, like august, september, maybe a bit of october.. and then a bunch when i went home for winter break..” you trailed off. “but not recently. i guess i wasn’t paying attention.”

“well no, you were asleep.” she teased, making you turn to playfully hit her.

“i’m just saying! i noticed it in november, after we went on our first date. you’d just fall asleep in my arms.”

“oh.” you had a small, flushed, smile on your face.

roommate!billie, who always slipped an extra umbrella in your bag the night before, knowing you’d forget and get stuck in the rain between classes

roommate!billie, who offered to drive you to further classes…. kissing you goodbye each time, leaving her flustered in the drivers seat.

roommate!billie, who loved taking walks at night as it got warmer. right after dinner. she’s always suggest walking to and from the meal hall, or it was one of your favorite parts of the day now.

roommate!billie, who practically sterilized the room when the pollen count got high and your allergies flared up.

roommate!you, who’s parents, came to visit one saturday, to start taking some things back home with them since the semester ended next month.

“hey lovey!” your mom called, shutting the car door.

“hi mommy!!” you called back, walking towards her to let her engulf you in a hug.

you brought her upstairs to yours and billie’s shared room, unlocking it and letting her in.

roommate!billie, who is ADORED by your parents, even before you realized you liked girls and started dating.

“hi mrs. y/l/n!” she said, climbing down off her bed to give her a hug.

“hi you!! you sick of my daughter yet??” she teased pulling away from the hug, shooting you a wink as you playfully scoffed.

“aww i could never be, she’s too perfect,” she came over to hug you playfully, kissing your cheek while you tried to hide your smile.

you three spent the next hour or so, packing up some non-essentials, and moving things down to your moms car. some decor, winter clothes and boots, last semesters textbooks you forgot back in december, things you definitely wouldn’t be needing over the next four weeks.

at one point, you moved your bed away from the wall, to reach some bigger things stored down there, leaving your bed in the middle of the floor to deal with later.

well now it was later. your mom took you and billie to dinner, at the quaint little diner a few minutes from campus, before sending you both off with hugs and kisses and good luck ending the semester.

“i’m gonna shower real quick,” you said as billie unlocked the door, holding it open for you. she just smiled and nodded, kissing your cheek quickly.

as the bathroom door closed, billie put her hands on her hips, looking at the bed in the middle of the floor, when she had an idea.

meanwhile in the shower, you heard quite the commotion in your room. something squeaking on the floor, loud and a little annoying. but you figured it was just billie being a gentlewoman moving you bed back for you.

you were met with quite the surprise when you finally opened the bathroom door.

billie was sat in the middle, of your two twin sized beds pushed together to make one big bed. she had a big fluffy blanket that barely covered both beds, but was big enough for you two to snuggle under.

“what did you get up to missy?” you had a teasing, flustered smile on your face.

“i made it into a big bed!! i hope that’s okay?” she got sheepish and red in the cheeks, making her even more adorable.

“yeah!! yeah, no it’s.. it’s perfect.” you stuttered out. slowly you made your way over, hoisting yourself up onto the tall dorm bed, shifting closer to the middle to be closer to billie.

“this feels so like… adult.”

“adult?” billie laughed, “what does that mean?”

you giggled along with her. “i don’t know, like.. adults share a big bed together i guess?? it’s different than sharing one of our beds separately i guess. there’s more room.”

“that is true, there is more room. now you won’t be up against the wall every night,” she giggled.

the two of you laid together for a while, watching tv on billie’s laptop, when the mood shifted a bit.

roommate!billie, who gained quite the reputation last fall, as somewhat of a player. never ghosting hookups, but never committing either.

roommate!billie, who never wanted to pressure you into anything, especially knowing you hadn’t been with any girls, and maybe no guys either.

roommate!billie, who would actually worship you if she ever had the chance to be with you like that. if sex with you is anything like your soft angelic kisses, she’s a goner.

roommate!billie, who wasn’t impatient, but definitely curious.

the tv show you were both watching had become background noise at this point, both of you chit chatting every so often about whatever came to mind.

not to mention flirting. billie was in quite the flirty mood today, especially since she pushed your two beds together.

she just watched you for a moment, smiling softly as she pushed some hair behind your ear. your skin glowing under the colored light of your sunset lamp lighting up the room.

“y’so pretty,” she whispered mainly to herself but the sheepish smile growing on your lips told her you heard it. you leaned up meeting her lips in a kiss.

it started soft, before getting hungrier, more desperate. you moaned softly into the kiss, making billie’s ego inflate about a million sizes. she wanted to hear it over and over and over again.

softly, she helped you lie back without breaking the kiss. your hands threaded through her hair and hers moved around on your waist.

her kisses shifted to the corner of your mouth, your cheek, jaw, jawline, down your neck, until she found your sweet spot, eliciting a whiney, breathy moan from your lips. billie smirked onto your skin at the sound of your little gasps and moans.

her ego would go nuts if she knew that she was the only person to ever make you moan before.

she sucked and licked over the same spot until it bloomed dark on your skin. she began to move down more towards your collarbones, her hands softly moving under your sweatshirt when your breath hitched.

“you okay?” she said, looking up at you from where she was kneeling.

you just lay there, panting, looking at the ceiling, blinking.

“baby, you’re scaring me.” immediately you grabbed her hand from under your sweatshirt and looked down back at her.

“i’m okay.”

“what’s going on love? talk to me please.” she shifted her weight to lay next to you. you played with billie’s fingers, nerves eating away at your breath.

“i’m um.. i’ve never…” you cleared your throat, stalling. billie’s free hand went to rest on your waist over your sweatshirt, her fingers moving softly on your clothed skin.

“have you ever had sex before?” her words were soft, and understanding before you even said your answer. there was no disappointment or bite to her words. you finally made eye contact and wanted to cry. her face was so soft, eyes full of love and warmth.

slowly you shook your head, eyes moving down to yours and billie’s hand, still connected.

“that’s okay baby!! i’m not upset, that’s perfectly fine,” you started to tear up. “oh baby, no. why are you crying pumpkin?”

“because i’m embarrassed about it… and you’re being really nice,” your bottom lip wobbled and your eyes were wide like a baby deer.

“lovey,” billie pouted sympathetically. she sat up against the pillows, bringing you down to her chest to hold you.

“we don’t have to do anything tonight. or anytime soon. or ever if that’s what you want. i’d wait forever for you,” she kissed the top of your head a few times before leaning back a tad to wipe some tears from your face.

“are you sure?” you croaked. billie nodded warmly, her smile so sweet.

“okay,” you nodded and snuggled back into her chest, still hiccuping back tears but slower now as you caught your breath.

billie held you like that for a few minutes. your scared little heart, starting to warm up again, coming out from behind the metaphorical wall you had in there. billie was so sure you had fallen asleep, until you shifted so you could look up at her.

“billie?”

“yeah, baby,”

“can i tell you something.. like kinda big?”

“anything you want, mama.”

“i think i’m falling in love with you.”

“yeah?”

“uh huh..”

“oh babyyy.. i’ve been in love with you for months.”

an: posted at 11:58 pm…. on the 16th like i promised😎🤪

[reidmarieprentiss]

Could I please request Spencer & Fem Reader based on the episode 9x24 when he gets shot and reader is super worried about him so is comforting him and doing all she can to make sure he’s ok and just fretting over him and on the jet she’s helping him in and just sitting with him next to the couch, brushing his hair so he sleeps. Just lots of cuddles. Maybe overbearing for Spencer because he’s not used to being the one taken care of since it’s usually vise versa. Thanks!!

Wounds: Physical & Emotional

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: angst, hurt

Warnings/Includes: aftermath of Spencer getting shot, reader being overbearing, Spencer snapping, no happy ending

Word count: 2.1k

a/n: hiii i hope this is okay <33 i needed some angst so this was perfect

main masterlist

The atmosphere in the hospital room was filled with a quiet tension, the sterile smell of antiseptics mingling with the dull hum of machines. Spencer lay there, eyes half-open, a little pale and looking both exhausted and grateful just to be alive. His neck, wrapped in fresh bandages, still bore the marks of his ordeal, a stark reminder of how close he’d come to something irreversible.

You stood by his bedside, fingers gently resting on the thin hospital blanket, as if the mere act of touching it could somehow channel some of your strength to him. You'd been pacing the hallway for what felt like hours, running through every worst-case scenario, but finally seeing him, hearing the faint sound of his breathing steady and rhythmic—it brought a wave of relief so overwhelming it nearly took you to your knees.

As his eyes fluttered open, a soft but tired smile curved on his lips when he saw you there. “You… you really didn’t have to stay,” he murmured, his voice a bit strained, weakened from both the injury and the exhaustion that came with it.

You shook your head immediately, your hand instinctively reaching for his, fingers wrapping around his gently. “Don’t even say that, Spencer,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, each word infused with the worry you’d been bottling up since the moment you’d found out he’d been hurt. “There’s nowhere else I would be. You… I was so scared.”

He squeezed your hand weakly, his thumb tracing a small, reassuring pattern against your knuckles. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I know... I know how it must've felt, seeing me like that."

“No, no,” you replied quickly, shaking your head. “You don’t have to apologize for anything. None of this was your fault. You just… you’re always putting yourself out there for everyone else, and… Spencer, I can’t lose you. Not like that.”

His gaze softened as he looked up at you, the slight sheen of tears glistening in your eyes. He’d seen you in countless stressful situations, through endless cases and late-night work sessions, but this—this was different. “I’m still here,” he assured, his voice barely above a whisper, but steady. “I’m still here.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out and brushing a loose strand of hair from his forehead, your fingertips lingering, just relieved to feel the warmth of his skin beneath them. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that,” you replied, your voice catching. “I didn’t… I didn’t know if I’d get to.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into your touch, letting himself be comforted by your presence. The weight of what he’d been through hung between you both, unspoken yet deeply felt. It was as though your silent worry, your prayers for his survival, had wrapped around him, bringing him back.

“Are you… are you comfortable? Do you need anything?” you asked, your voice barely louder than a whisper, but still filled with all the care and concern that had carried you through those agonizing hours of waiting.

He chuckled softly, a little hoarse, but there was a warmth in his eyes as he shook his head. “Just having you here is… more than enough,” he replied, his hand squeezing yours a little more firmly, a silent acknowledgment of how much it meant to him that you’d stayed, that you were there.

Your hand drifted from his forehead to his cheek, your thumb softly tracing the edge of his jaw, and for a moment, he simply closed his eyes, letting himself rest, letting himself lean on you.

“Promise me,” you said softly, breaking the quiet that had settled over you both. “Promise me you’ll be more careful next time, that… that you won’t go scaring me like this again.”

He opened his eyes, looking up at you, a small, apologetic smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll try,” he whispered. “But you know me…”

You rolled your eyes, a reluctant smile of your own finally breaking through the worry. “Yeah, I do,” you murmured, shaking your head fondly. “Which is exactly why I’ll be here, making sure you keep that promise.”

—

Your concern for Spencer had taken on a life of its own, a constant, consuming presence that followed him from the hospital back to work and even into the comfort of his own home. Every glance his way was laden with worry, every touch a check for signs of strain or pain, an endless stream of small but deeply attentive gestures. It seemed you couldn’t stop yourself from fretting over him, as if that watchful care alone could ensure his safety and recovery.

On the jet, you were never far from his side. When he tried to settle into the couch, you followed, bringing a small pillow and blanket, making sure he was comfortable, even sitting right beside him as if to act as a physical buffer against anything that might cause him pain. 

“Let me know if you need anything,” you whispered for what felt like the tenth time, fingers gently brushing a stray curl from his forehead. You stayed close, sometimes pulling a chair beside him, sometimes gently brushing your fingers through his hair in a rhythm that would lull him to sleep. Every time he shifted or opened his eyes, he found you right there, watching him with that same blend of worry and tenderness.

But back at home, your concern reached new levels. You simply couldn’t bear the idea of leaving him to fend for himself—not after what he’d just gone through. Any movement he made was met with your insistent, gentle intervention. “No, no,” you’d say softly but firmly when he reached for the coffee pot or attempted to carry anything from the kitchen. “I’ve got it. You’re supposed to be resting.” You’d guide him back to the couch or bed, a hand on his shoulder as if you thought he might collapse any moment if left unattended.

He found himself surrounded by the constant reminders of your care: you’d already brought him fresh coffee, placed his favorite books within easy reach, even left snacks and water close by. You practically fussed over him like he was made of glass, which at first he found touching. There was an odd but comforting warmth in how your love translated into these little gestures of support.

In the quiet intimacy of his apartment, you’d taken to accompanying him into the bathroom, even the shower, ensuring he was never alone. “I just… I can’t bear to leave you alone yet,” you’d said with a nervous laugh the first time, reaching for his hand. “It makes me feel better, okay?” 

Spencer, both surprised and touched, had reluctantly agreed, though he couldn’t deny the awkwardness. You watched him carefully as he bathed, helping him wash himself, bringing him his towel, even brushing his hair afterward with the same attention you give every one of his movements. 

Every small thing, even the routine act of bathing, became a moment for you to ensure his well-being. And while it was comforting, he found himself increasingly confined by your constant care.

Finally, it became too much. Spencer, who had always prided himself on his independence, was beginning to feel suffocated, trapped by the very love that usually gave him comfort and strength. He’d always been the one to look after others, the quiet pillar of support, and the sudden inversion had been tolerable at first. But as the days wore on, he found himself unable to breathe under the weight of it.

One evening, after yet another shower where you hovered nearby, he reached a breaking point. Just as he reached for the towel, he looked up seeing you already holding it, his face was now laced with frustration and fatigue. “Can’t you… can’t you just give me a little space?” he snapped, his voice louder than he intended, sharp enough to startle you.

The words hung in the air, and you looked at him, taken aback by the sudden tension in his voice. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, the frustration evident as he struggled to put his feelings into words. “I know you’re worried about me—I know. But you won’t even let me bathe alone,” he continued, his tone edged with an exasperation that mirrored how he felt. “I can’t even think for five minutes without you hovering!”

You took a shaky breath, hurt and confusion clouding your expression as you tried to process his outburst. “I… I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” you said softly, your voice breaking with the vulnerability you’d tried so hard to keep hidden.

Spencer’s gaze never softened, “I know you’re worried, and I want to appreciate it, I do. But I need time to myself. I need to feel like I can still do something without help. I need space from you!” he raised his voice again.

You flinched as your heart sank, realizing how tightly you’d been holding on to the fear of losing him, how it had manifested in every act of love, every worried glance, every touch that you’d thought was comforting. You nodded, stepping back a little, trying to offer him the space he so clearly needed. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, eyes dropping to the floor. “I… I’ll give you that space.”

As you quietly closed the bathroom door behind you, Spencer felt a calmness settle over him, a rare feeling of unencumbered space. He hadn’t realized until that moment just how much the attention—though well-meaning and deeply appreciated—had begun to weigh on him, like an invisible net keeping him grounded. The soft click of the door seemed to signal a return to normalcy, to a routine he thought he’d lost somewhere in the haze of his injury.

But what he didn’t realize was how deeply his outburst had hurt you, how you’d clung so desperately to the idea of keeping him safe, only to feel dismissed, even resented, for the very care you’d thought he needed.

Spencer felt lighter as he brushed his hair, each stroke a small declaration of independence. He took his time shaving, enjoying the familiar ritual. He finished, splashing cold water on his face, feeling as if he’d reclaimed a part of himself, a small but significant piece of control.

Satisfied, he wrapped himself in a fresh towel and stepped into the bedroom, thinking of nothing but how good it felt to finally be able to tend to himself. But the moment he crossed the threshold, a chill settled over him. His eyes flicked to the small armchair in the corner, the one that had become a fixture for your bag during your stayover, always waiting quietly, a reminder of your presence and your watchful care. Except now, the chair sat empty. Your bag was gone.

His heart stilled, a sinking feeling creeping into his chest. Quickly, he threw on clothes, barely fastening the buttons of his shirt before moving through the apartment, calling out your name, his voice echoing through the silent rooms. “Y/N?”

He stepped into the living room, glancing around in hopes you were just out of sight, maybe near the kitchen or just down the hall. But there was no answer, no sound, just an aching quiet that pressed in on him like a vise.

“Y/N!” he called again, louder this time, almost pleading. But the silence that met him felt crushing. His mind whirled with dread, memories of the sharpness in his tone, the flash of hurt in your eyes just before you’d turned away. The realization of what he’d done, what he’d said, crashed over him with a painful clarity. In his desperate need for solitude, he hadn’t stopped to consider what his words might mean to you, hadn’t thought of how they might cut deep after all you’d done to care for him.

The hollow ache in his chest grew as he scanned the empty room, his mind replaying each moment you’d been there, every touch, every comforting smile. He could still feel the warmth of your hand in his, the gentle brush of your fingers through his hair. The thought that you might’ve left, might have taken that warmth and devotion with you, was more terrifying than anything he’d faced in the field.

His voice softened, almost a whisper, as he spoke into the empty room, “Please, don’t go.” But the quiet, unyielding silence lingered, leaving him alone with the weight of his words, and he realized that maybe, just maybe, he’d pushed away the one thing he truly needed.

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[so-i-did-this-thing]

You're the only person I know on Tumblr who I feel like I can send this ask so I hope this is ok.

I'm absolutely sick to my stomach terrified. People keep talking about not acquiescing early and to keep fighting and that's good but... I'm a trans person married to a trans person and we have a kid. We are so, so scared that we are going to lose our parental rights and have him taken away, even if he's biologically my partners. We are pretty fucking sure that the only way we could even possibly stay in the US and even possibly keep our family together is to detransition. But then we would still be queer, and I remember the 90s and how it was pretty recent that gay couples were considered unfit parents.

And this isn't us blowing things out of proportion, we have an education in politics so we've got a pretty good freaking idea about how bad things can and will get, but also we don't feel like we can afford to NOT take things extremely seriously. The worst case scenario is pretty horrific for us, so we've talked at lengthe about leaving the country. Which is it's own basket of heartbreaks because then there's a real chance we will never be able to come back. And I don't really feel like I can talk about it because a) the Internet doesn't feel safe to be trans on and b) there's been SO much chatter about how we need to stay and fight and people who can leave are privileged etc etc

I just... I'm scared and heartbroken and angry and I feel extremely hopeless. I guess I don't really have a question after all. I just needed to talk about it because it feels like not enough people are seeing this kind of true tragedy that could come from all this.

I wish there was actual help we could get. But there doesn't seem like there's anyone who can.

You're right, Anon - you're not blowing things out of proportion.

I want to say that I'm relieved in a sense that you are talking about where your lines in the sand are are and what you plan to do if they are crossed. There is hope and comfort to be found in a plan, even if it is a plan for the next generation's survival, instead of our own.

Every trans person needs to start thinking about real answers to the following questions:

What will I do if I'm fired tomorrow?

What will I do if I'm denied a loan? Housing?

What will I do if I lose my HRT?

What will I do if information about trans people is considered illegal to circulate?

What will I do if I I'm declared an unfit parent?

What will I do if my marriage is annulled?

What will I do if I'm declared unfit to own my own property or make my own legal decisions?

What will I do if I'm about to be arrested?

There are answers to all of these questions that aren't just "give up and die." But there's no one-size-fits all solution. People will have varying priorities based on how they see their role in fighting fascism and what resources they have access to.

Community is going to become incredibly important. Trans people have always existed. Sympathetic cis people have always existed. Trans people have always found ways to survive and even flourish, even though it often meant not being able to pursue their original dreams.

If you don't know where to begin with strengthening our community, the Trans Literature Preservation Project is a good place to get ideas. The virtual book burnings have already begun on .gov websites, so maybe doing a little preservation work will give you more hope that you're working to make a difference.

Because the work is important, even if the progress won't happen until after our time.

[yandere-romanticaa]

hi my love! is it ok if i can request any mtp character that has a darling that cannot speak english very well and has an accent? so when she gets kidnapped or when character acts like yandere towards her, she is confused because she doesnt really understand some of the english? but she tries her best to speak english haha<3

i’m sorry if it is hard to understand me, english isn’t my first language :< (like the darling above!! lol) please take care ana, i love you so much<3 and feel ok to ignore this, i just thought it wouldve been cute haha

The world had bowed to the United Kingdom. There was not a single corner of the globe in which the massive nation had not stepped foot in, trampling the lives of the innocent and forcing their customs onto the so-called "savages". Even if one was not from a colony, the effects of the nation could still be felt. Each little ripple could cause a massive tide, be it good or bad.

This is why you wanted to come to London.

Start fresh, seek out a new life. Oh, the thought of leaving your family terrified you to the core but the prospect of a better future was just far too good to pass up on.

London was a city of invention and hope, a place in which things were constantly in motion. Your English was abysmal at best, and the fact that you were foreign did not go unnoticed either. The highborn lords and ladies would look down from their carriages, as if they were the mighty gods who ruled over everything and anything that dared to take breath.

No matter. There was no time to worry about that.

Find work, get a roof over your head and some food in your belly. Those are the primary objectives. Make a fat paycheck and send some money back to family and loved ones, the thought of making their lives easier made your heart do backflips. With nothing but a single suitcase and almost no money, you were no better than prey in this den of wolves.

Fate was a fascinating mistress as none of the wolves had managed to sink their fangs into your supple flesh.

It was as if the stars themselves had gazed down at you and blessed you with a man so kind and gentle, a man who just so happened to be looking for someone who could clean his very expensive and lovely manor.

His name was Albert James Moriarty and on that very day, he had become your savior. He graciously offered his hand to you, his elegance shining brightly all over him like the sun as you stared at him in awe, wondering how you had managed to get so lucky so soon. In no time he gave you a uniform and informed you of your daily duties as best as he could. You had expected your lord to become impatient with you, to at least scoff under his breath for your inability to formulate a basic sentence, and yet that was never the case.

Lord Albert did his best to be patient with you, using hand gestures, facial expressions and sometimes even drawing out whatever his desires were or what needed to be done. He would mimic drinking tea with his hands, point to places that needed dusting and he made sure that you could at least understand basic greetings and farewells, just in case you needed them. When you had the spare time, he would have you sit down in his private office, the fire crackling behind you both as he handed you a book to read out loud. Albert would work on his papers as you clutch onto the book, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as you did your best to grasp the English language. In due time, you realized that he was giving you children's tales which were always filled with easy sentences, basic grammar and just a hint of whimsy.

There would always be a hint of a smile on his face as you read to him, as if he was pleased with your efforts.

The thought alone made you want to weep from joy. Preparing for the worst case scenario seemed to be absolutely unnecessary as Albert always had everything covered when it came to you and your needs.

Although, your lord did seem to act a bit odd at times.

That dashing green gaze of his would trail after you enter the room, his deep and soothing voice always lingering nearby as you dust the bookshelves, his accent only making him more appealing that he ought to be.

Falling for him was not an option. It just couldn't be. He was your boss - your lord - and surely a man like that would never cast his gaze to someone like you, right? His wandering eyes have been chalked up to figments of your imagination, the gentle mornings you would share with him were nothing but British customs you were yet to get used to.

Lord Albert was not a wolf.

He would never harm you.

And there was truth to that. You were one of the few people that Albert James Moriarty would never even think about laying a finger on.

As for the rest of high society...

That was a different tale to tell.

My darling, your English is lovely! If it makes you feel any better, English is also not my mother language as well! My apologies if this was too rushed, I just wanted to write something for Albert and you gave me the excuse to do so. Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoyed it!

[sandraharissa]

How did they accidentally intimately understand the experiences of mentally ill ppl in s1??? How??? It’s gotta be cos the writers changed right

Ok bcos like, it’s not like Jinx in s1 was a good portrayal of mental illnesses in the sense that it was realistic. I’d actually argue that part of her appeal and what made her work so well is bcos she was undiagnosable. She showed many symptoms of what could be many different issues and so many ppl could relate to her on a basis of one symptom. But what they did with Jinx that made her work so well is that they seemingly understood the emotions and psychology that are shared by ppl with all types of different issues. They didn’t need to understand all the technicalities in terms of, like I said, a realistic portrayal of a specific issue. What mattered was that she felt like a really mentally ill person cos her arc dealt with the struggles of mentally ill ppl. She was portrayed to feel isolated, struggling to communicate/socialize, feeling like she was fundamentally wrong/different, like she inherently didn’t belong anywhere, frustrated with her own symptoms, having internalized guilt, a desire to be loved/accepted, feeling unlovable, trying to hide her issues/symptoms, futilely trying to fit/change her behavior to fit/pass, feeling like a failure etc.

The main betrayal of s2 when it comes to Jinx and her arc was violating that connection that ppl build with Jinx in s1. S2 Jinx is an extremely unrealistic, unrelatable and sanitized portrayal of mental issues.

99% of her symptoms disappeared after she experienced smth that would drastically exacerbate them. Are you pranking me? Is that what I’m supposed to relate to? Quick fixes were applied, like giving her Isha to fix her loneliness but 1)that’s not how raising a child while mentally ill would look like, it would make her struggles worse 2) they cease to portray crucial experiences of mental illness like feeling like you don’t belong cos your behavior is always off, these things don’t just disappear, even when ppl get better there’ll still be these moments, and that’s in a best case scenario. Like trans ppl after finishing treatment saying they got rid of 99% of their dysphoria, but never a 100%. look at how they expertly managed to portray Silco and Jinx having a close loving bond and simultaneously highlight her loneliness and isolation. So she has a kid now bcos single mothers are not famously lonely and isolated ppl right? It was a common point of criticism of Silco that Jinx not having friends amongst her peers is a really bad sign but now she still has no friends but now 1) it stopped being an issue 2) she’s also a single mother now.

The focus was switched from her being portrayed as likely born neurodivergent + traumatized to depression but specifically suicidality. it’s not like in s1 she wasn’t portrayed as depressed/suicidal and you’d think she’d become more so after s1 but that wasn’t the sole focus, but curiously it becomes so in s2. But despite this switch in focus that you’d think would stem from the writers wanting to write about their own experiences or smth that interests them that they think is important it couldn’t be clearer that the writers had zero empathy for the issues they were writing about cos it’s misery porn, a pitfall that many stories that center suicide fall into, glamorizing and romanticizing it. In s1 her worst symptoms like hallucinations were very dramatic and cool-looking visually but it was connected to this fundamental empathy, the understanding of mentally ill ppl as ppl with emotions and what those are. In s2 they drastically switch the portrayal of her issues to fit what they wanted to do with her in s2, and then proceeded to use it solely for cool and dramatic imagery/scenarios. It is completely disconnected from ppl’s real life experiences. The relatability was sacrificed for the sake of following tropes like 'death as redemption' that are supposed to be more dramatic or smth. Having her ping-pong from having no issues to having all the issues throughout the narrative.

Act1: She’s ‘dead inside’, she seems somewhat motivated at some point only for it to be revealed she was planning suicide – alright season, nice, what’s next. Act2: she’s just completely alright now from the get go, her hallucinations show up only when she first finds out Isha’s in danger. why? who knows. It’s like the writers understood that for them that would be a particularly stressful situation so they use the imagery of her illness to communicate she’s super distressed in this moment. So they used the imagery of mental illness not to convey mental illness and how it interacts with her life but as a dramatic-looking shortcut to convey a strong emotion, one that any other character would feel in this situation. Otherwise she’s doing better than she ever was, even in s1a1, and then Isha dies. Act3: so now she 100% ’wants to die’ again and it’s super depresso but then she has one conversation with Ekko and she’s again doing super good and then she dies by semi-suicide but she’s happy doing it and it’s like. beautiful? ok.

[graciedollie]

Hiya, I just read your Grayson X reader head cannons and I miss her so much. Could you please write something where she comes home stress after a long day and snaps it reader but then makes it up to her?

Heavy Moments

Pair: Grayson x Fem!Reader

Summary: It was a pretty quiet day for you as you didn’t have work today, but you couldn’t say the same for your wife. You greeted her with your usual kiss-hug greeting as always, but it felt off as you could feel her seething. Though once a steaming kettle is filled too much, it all spills—always at the wrong time, unfortunately.

Warnings: Nothing too drastic or whatever, Grayson is just upset from work and yells at you, but she makes up for it at the end <3

A/N: I miss her too anon :( and i hope you enjoy this!! (lowkey might be rushed🙏🏾)

The sky was draped with a orange-purple hue brush as the sun soon started to turn in for the night, drifting off to let the graceful moon rise in the sky. It was a cold night that night which prompted you to start a nice fireplace—adding more coziness and warmth to your lovely home you shared with your beloved wife.

You couldn’t help, but worry as it became later as the minute ticked by—leaving your mind in race with only the worst scenarios playing out in your little head. Her being an enforcer did take a bit much on her, having to constantly deal with arrests and other dangerous things.

Of course you trusted that she would always return home safely, but sometimes you had your doubts and that sucked—bad. Being with Grayson for a good while has been such an amazing experience, though you’ve had your little bumps in the road here and there. You both loved each other dearly and wouldn’t trade for the world.

You started to move around the house to find things to preoccupy your wandering mind—sweeping, wiping the kitchen counter, rearranging decorations and etc. It was working, but not so much as you were still having your nerves frazzled. They were only getting worse until you finally heard the front door creak open—presenting a tired, upset Grayson open the front door.

A smile immediately made its way to your lips, swiftly moving over to her as you have her the usual greet—tight hug, kiss, and more kisses. You did just that, but you could feel her tense in your grasp a little, which made you pull away as you caressed her cheek, “Rough day I take it?”

“Can’t you tell?”

Ok. A bit rude there. You furrowed your brows tightly at her snarky remark, but brushed it off as she was just stressed and it just slipped out. “Clearly I can. Do you wanna talk about it-“

“No. I don’t, ok? If I wanted to talk, I would have—just…just let me be.” Her voice was raspy and stern, making it clear that she was getting even more annoyed at you—which she didn’t really show much. You stared at her with a expression of shock and a bit hurt, to be honest.

You were used to her being a bit patient and not like thai, but I mean she did just have to handle the most stressful case AND deal with some backlash about ‘not doing her job correctly’. It was frustrating and it pissed her off—greatly, rightfully so.

But that didn’t make it any better when she snapped at you.

“I was just asking…” You trailed off as you swallowed back the tightening lump in your throat before returning her own energy. “You don’t have to be rude about it, Gray. Just because you’re upset doesn’t mean you get to take it out on me-“

“Jesus Christ—can you just leave me alone for 5 minutes! That’s all I want of you right now, but you can’t even give me that!”

Ok. Ouch. That hurt. She never really raised her voice at you and if she felt that she was, she would step away to take a couple deep breath, but obviously that wasn’t enough today.. You felt the words die off on your tongue, tasting the bitter of hurt taunting your tongue. I mean, yeah, she had her days, but it was rare for her to yell.

“Alright.”

Was all you said before you clenched your first and stormed your way down the hall to the bedroom, shutting the door behind you before taking a seat on the edge of the bed—trying to grasp the fact that she actually had snapped at you, yelled at you in that fact. You sat at the bed, staring at your hands as you twitched your lips in a scowl—feeling your nerves fry gradually.

Grayson watched as you stormed away before she looked away with a heavy sigh, rubbing her temples tenderly as she slowly calmed herself down gradually—trying to get herself together before she went back to check on you as she didn’t want to just go after you right away.

You both needed a moment to cool off.

A couple minutes had passed as you still sat at the foot of the bed, fumbling with your nails as you were in pretty deep thought. You tried to calm your own nerves down and not think too much of it. She didn’t mean to yell, right? It was an accident. You didn’t mean to push her, but you really didn’t. All you wanted to do was to make sure she knew you was worried and was there for her—though it seemed it was a bit too much.

Especially after a long day, but even so..

Your ears perked up as you heard the bedroom door slowly creak open, revealing a guilty Grayson standing at the door—grasping the doorknob tightly before she slowly made her way in and sat down beside you. She watched how you tensed a bit, but there was a hint of softness in your gaze as your eyes met hers befor averting away.

It was a tense, thick silence in the air—thick enough to cut with a knife. You both wanted to speak, but I mean, you were both a bit surprised that she yelled at you. Even she was surprised at herself since it was rare she ever yelled at you. You would glance at her every now and then, opening your mouth to speak—though it was only silence until she finally spoke.

“I’m…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that, love. You only wanted to see if I was ok and I know you care a lot, but sometimes I just need a little time alone to myself, hm?” Her voice had that usual raspy, husky tone to it along with a edge of gentleness and care—as if she was practically softening up.

Your eyes flickered over at her with a glint in your eyes, soaking in the warmth of her words. You stayed silent for a moment before letting out a sigh, settling your head against her shoulder, “I’m sorry too…I should’ve let you have your space too, honey. I just wanted to make sure you were ok, I didn’t mean to, ya know, overwhelm you? But you also didn’t have to yell at me either..”

She nodded in understanding, wrapping an arm around you to bring you closer to her before she placed a loving kiss to your head—a gesture you’ve always been fond of since you’ve been together. You were happy you both apologized and talked it out as other couples would just hold a grudge and just go on about it with silly tactics, but not you two—especially since Grayson couldn’t bare the fact of going to sleep with you and you were upset at her.

How could she do such a thing?

“Oh, I know, love…I know and I’m sorry, but at least we’ve talked, hm? Communicate. We won’t have this little…run-in anymore, no?” She whispered softly, gazing at you with a loving glance as she brushed her thumb over the skin of your cheek—eliciting you to lean into the warm, welcoming touch.

“No…we won’t..”

“Good..”

She pulled away to only pull you into a warm, tender hug as she held you close—engulfing the scent of your perfume as you snuggled up to her. The night went on yo be a nice, relaxing night for the both of you. Relaxing in a warm bath. Talking about whatever came to mind. And just being two lovebirds in love <3

It wasn’t until the beautiful morning came, you had rose from your sleep, of course you knew that Grayson was already up and out for her usual duties—as always. You looked around as you grunted while shuffling out the bed and throwing your robe on to head in the kitchen. And that’s when you saw it…

It was a beautiful bouquet of your favorite flowers, wrapped in a lovely, vintage newspaper that contrasted the delicate flowers. Along with that, the wrapped boxes and bag sat along side it—wrapped with your favorite color. The thought of her doing this made you fall even in more in love with her—God she was going to be the death of you.

It was also a little note on the side of the box, picking it up to read it as your eyes scanned over the words, “I hope you’re still not mad at me, Love. But just in case..”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the small note, placing a kiss to it before you sat it down and started to sort through the gifts she graced you with.

You could never stay mad at her <3

Taglist!!

@sillygirl-lol

hope you enjoyed dolliessss (so so sooooo sorry this took so long to post 💔)!!!

[apdreadful]

I’ve decided that from here forward I’m writing Tommy and Buck/Evan as long term canon. In the words of Buck himself “Who cares?!”

I get the feeling that Tommy is difficult to get really angry. Mostly based on his past. And his general roll with the punches attitude thus far. So I don’t foresee a lot of strife or fighting in his future with Buck. Except the first time Tommy experiences the after of that big marshmallow Evan Buckley doing something really dangerous and reckless..again.

And Tommy who never gets angry, who never shouts at Buck, who flew a helicopter into a goddamn hurricane in the middle of the ocean, really loses his shit this time because Buck cannot understand why Tommy is so upset that he dropped into a dangerous situation against orders AGAIN.

Tommy pinches the bridge of his nose to keep from shouting “Bobby told you not to go in. He told you not to risk it. That the floors were too unstable”

“There could have been someone left” Buck replies “Someone needed to check. It had to be me”

“Why? Because you’re fucking super human? The great Buck Buckley from the 118 who scoffs at danger, has survived a tsunami, getting trapped beneath a fire truck, throwing a blood clot, and was officially dead for three minutes after getting struck by FUCKING LIGHTNING!”

“How do you know about all of that?”

“That isn’t what matters”

“I think it is” Buck takes a step toward Tommy “Have you been stalking me babe?”

Noticing the mischievous smile Tommy shakes his head “Oh no no no. You are not going to adorable your way out of this”

Bucks shoulders sag and he sighs “I’m ok Tommy. Not even a scratch”

“I can see that” Tommy lets out a deep exhale “I understand the risks of the job. I’m not like your exes who would get all distraught over you removing a cat from a tree. But for fucks sake, you are worse than the EOD guys when I was in Afghanistan with the walking - or in your case running or jumping- right into the worst case scenario with no thought of your own safety” Rubbing his forehead he continues “Evan. You’ve got a savior complex and it’s noble and selfless..”

Buck cuts him off “It’s not a savior complex. I’m not stupid. I understand that sometimes no matter what you do you can’t save them. But sometimes maybe you can, and in those cases, I just make the most sense”

Tommy crosses his arms to keep from strangling him or kissing him stupid again to shut him up “How is that? How does you possibly dying make any sense?”

“They all have people that need them. They all have someone they belong to and..” he trails off with a small shrug

And Tommy hears the words he doesn’t say. He is…expendable. And just like that all of the anger drains out of Tommy to be replaced by a something else. “Evan” he says softly.

“I know” Buck interjects “I know that people love me and they would be sad, especially Maddie. And I don’t want to die. But I don’t want someone who has someone they need, and that needs them, to die either. I couldn’t live with that”

Tommy closes his eyes. This man..How can he be so adorable and selfless, yet so completely stubborn and a pain in the ass about his own safety?

Once he calms his thoughts and finds the words he wants to say, he opens his eyes to see Evan looking at him calmly. Like he expects Tommy to see the sense in what he said.

“Evan. I know we haven’t really put a label on this. On us. But that’s because I don’t want to pressure you. I’m the first man you’ve been with and you’re still figuring out who you are, and I understand that. But let me clarify something for you. I need you to come back to me. Ok?”

Buck blinks “Huh”

“I need you to come back to me” he repeats “Like Bobby needs Athena, and Karen needs Hen, and yes like Maddie needs Chimney.

“And Jee-un. Jee-yun needs her dad”

“Yes, and in that same vein, Christopher needs Eddie” he agrees, trying not to give in to his exasperation. “I need you. I am that person who needs you to come home Evan”

Evan stops whatever he was about to say. Startled awareness creeping into his eyes..Tommy sees a mix of emotions flit across his face. Surprise, joy, fear, everything just races across that expressive face and then Evan sinks onto the barstool at his kitchen island. His hands coming up to cover his face.

Tommy’s stomach clench’s. He pushed too hard, too soon “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I do care and want you to come home but..”

Buck looks up at him “Don’t you dare take that back”

“I’m not taking it back. I just don’t want to push you”

Something else crosses Evans face at that..but he tugged at his bottom lip with his teeth. “You aren’t pushing. You aren’t pressuring me. I am in this just as much as you. I just don’t know how to say what I want to say without it sounding lame and emo as shit”

“Did you just hear me? You can say anything to me Evan. Whatever it is”

Buck rolls his bottom lip between his teeth again. “I’ve never questioned why I do this…I mean it’s the whole reason I was born. To save my brother. To save Daniel. That’s what I do, that’s who I am. It’s why I became a firefighter. To be the one who saves people. The 118 is my family. And I would do anything to protect them from harm”

“I’m not asking you to stop. I would never ask that. I just want to remind you that you matter to a lot of people, and you also have someone who is waiting for you”

Bucks voice is thick “I know that. I get that. But…Nobody has ever. I have never belonged to anyone, like that”

In a sense of deja vu Tommy closes the short distance to Buck. Tipping his face up, he kisses him. Not soft and gentle like their first kiss in this kitchen. But bold and deep. Branding Evan with his mouth. Pulling back he says fiercely “You belong to me like that. For as long as you want..you belong to me and I belong to you, like that”

“I will ALWAYS need you to come back to me Evan”

ao3 like per request

[raspberrylovc]

KISSES AND KILLERS

warnings :: mentions of death

fear street 1978 travis au!!

—

HE WAS so nervous. god, he was so nervous. you had him pushed against the closet wall, hand over his mouth so tommy didn’t hear you. he never once in his life thought he’d fear his best friend — fear tommy fucking slater. yet here he was, hiding from him while you struggled to keep him quiet.

after you hear tommy leave, deciding no one was there, you take your hand off his mouth. travis lets out a heavy breath, he was practically panting. all you can do is stare. youre in a state of shock. how could tommy, one of the sweetest counselors you’ve met, be killing people around camp with a fucking axe?

“the witches house.” that was all he could make out. you stare at him confusedly. “what..?” you watch as he pants a few more times before finishing his sentence. “the witches house. i saw him going there with cindy, alice and arnie. it’s in the woods near the-“

“why the fuck do you know where sarah fiers old house is?” you ask in disbelief. “it doesn’t matter! point is, he came back alone. if they’re still alive-“ “they’re probably not-“ “if… they’re still alive, we can’t just leave them be. we have to find them before he does.”

“are you absolutely insane? he has an axe, what if he finds us before we find them?” every possible scenario was going through your head. “and what if he finds them before we do? what if he kills them? what if he-“ you cut him off, leaning forward to press an urgent kiss to his lips. you just needed him to shut up.

he doesn’t even register the kiss until after you’ve already pulled away. he huffs out, almost disappointed that it ended before he could kiss back.

“i’m not letting you go out there. i get that they’re your friends but at least they have each other if the worst comes for them. we’ll wait it out.” he barely payed any attention to your words. after you kissed him, how could he? he knew he was just gonna agree anyways. he was an absolute sucker for kisses!

“um… yeah, ok.” he was also a lot calmer now. he’d almost forgotten his best friend went mad. but he suddenly just didn’t care anymore. his eyes were glued to you, now hyper-aware of your every movement. how your elbow just slightly grazed his stomach when you turned, how your cheeks were lightly tinted pink…

before he could even think, his hands were cupping your face as he urgently kissed you again. it was a bit messy at first. since he didn’t even properly realize he was doing it, he was a bit uncoordinated. but, of course, you just seemed to be perfect at it, despite the sloppiness.

you reacted almost immediately, hands flying to the back of his neck. you moved as if you’d been planning it for forever, like you knew exactly what was gonna happen and how to react to it too. he felt almost guilty. there was a murderer wandering camp and here he was kissing a girl who had never batted an eye at him before today.

or maybe you had.. maybe he was just clueless. he was so fucking clueless.

—

A/N

wrote this before i fell asleep in case i forgot it tomorrow

just a little sneak peek of what i have in mind for this au

three posts in one night, who’s surprised? (i am)

[liketwoswansinbalance]

What would Rhian do if Rafal started having a panic attack and just could not calm down?

The scenario seems unlikely, given Rafal's relatively unflappable, impassive temperament and how he doesn't seem to exhibit PTSD symptoms, but this scenario is also very interesting, and I would really like to know what could possibly trigger a panic attack of that intensity in him. It'd probably have to be something unimaginably horrible? (Literally, I don't have a good answer at the moment for possible hair-raising stimuli to him, as much as we joke about Rafal vs. pirates.)

If he did have a panic attack, I feel like it would be most in character of him to dissociate/undergo depersonalization and feel like a third party observer to his life or a singular event, whether it's unfolding or oncoming. And he would only stand still with bated breath in abject dread at some kind of figurative tidal wave he's about to be bombarded with.

It would probably be a silent panic attack, not an outburst or a weepy/breathy one—and he might have the blue-screen-of-death type of feeling/expression, during which nothing new on the outside is being registered and processed because he's gone numb and detached. Like, his eyes would be open, and he'd look, but he wouldn't see or comprehend. He may as well have been gazing at the backs of his lids, or at a blur, or feel dark/reddish pulsing.

Ok, brace yourselves—

This is the worst-case scenario in relation to this fascinating ask:

Rafal falls into a fugue state and wanders away from home (and Rhian doesn't stop him or think to stop him because Rafal's left without any prior notice before. He has a history of it. And, he literally just disappears and reappears at will, seemingly well mentally, like it's a magic trick. So, whatever Rafal does, wherever he goes, if action is needed at all, it must be some practice of self-regulation, given his unwillingness to rely on anyone else. And most unsettling of all: again, no one would be able to distinguish the panic attack from every other time Rafal's casually left.)

And while I'm sure this isn't canon, we could make the leap that he could have been hurt enough by Rhian's jab at his pride at the start of Rise that there is, I suppose, a non-zero chance of this having happened when he first struck out on his own (during the time gap, pre-meeting Hook).

Actually, a lot of Rafal's behaviors align with schizoid personality disorder, antisocial personality disorder, autism, paranoid personality disorder, anhedonia, and obsessive compulsive personality disorder—I don't necessarily think he's affected by any one of these conditions alone. Any kind of comorbidity is possible. And yet, oddly enough, I can't see PTSD as likely because: either his trauma is invisible or he's more likely to be the one inflicting trauma on others than ever experiencing it or irrational fears himself.

Anyway, as for my answer—first, Rhian would probably try to ground Rafal in the world and keep Rafal responsive.

In the case of Rhian not knowing how to deal with panic attacks, perhaps, he could try to shake/slap some sense into Rafal.

If both of these tactics were to fail, the "kindest" solution would probably be to sedate or safely render Rafal unconscious with magic before his feelings escalated any further or he lost consciousness due to hyperventilation. So, if Rhian could keep a clear head while all this were going on, I suspect that's what he would do.

And let's face it: This is entirely conditional—it would only be so if Rhian were even there, as, the possibility of Rafal just up and leaving, (and not accepting any help, if anyone even notices anything off about him) is still firmly on the table.

However, Rhian's anxious tendencies could interfere with taking an appropriate or any course of action for that matter. He could freeze up at the sight of Rafal in this state as it could very well be a novel occurrence. And, if he didn't know what to do, his mind could go blank out of stress, fear, and/or shock. At best though, he could get Rafal medical assistance/psychological attention, whichever services exist in the Woods.

In fact, I think Rhian would try to "fix" the feeling/reaction itself, only what's being presented to him, that's observable, not the situation or root cause of Rafal's panic attack. And, ordinary words/gestures of reassurance would not be enough, if he can't be calmed.

There's even a chance Rhian could be afraid of touching or attempting to hug Rafal in a state like that, due to a fear of disturbing Rafal(?), even if he could hold the instinct to do so.

I'm not sure it would ever cross Rhian's mind to deal with Rafal's panic from the outside, as in, directly removing the distressing stimuli or dealing head-on with some source of trauma or approximation of trauma, if the stimulus is adjacent to but not the exact thing which would set off Rafal's response, or "under-response," knowing him.

There's also an off-chance that certain behaviors of Rhian's are triggers to Rafal, but that neither of them know it. The opposite is also probably true, considering Rhian was set off, in a way, at the end of Fall by the weighty/selfish but relatively innocuous offer Rafal extended to him.

Thus, I think there's a definite, non-zero chance they've each traumatized the other and cannot recognize it because they're so entrenched in their relationship and cannot view it objectively.

Lastly, keep in mind that I am not an expert or an actual psychologist. I have only tried to not misinform. I invite you to correct me if anything is wrong.

Thoughts or reactions, anyone?! I'm not sure whether my answer is predictable or provocative.