#and then while I was checking out the guy was doing his usual spiel and was like do you have a Nike account blah blah blah

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

what if I told y’all I got these for $28

[hijinxinprogress]

I need Billy thinking he’s so great at hiding things (and he is) no one knows he’s like fucking eight but they are pretty sure he hates like half the league

Like I need Billy getting along with everyone but he’s kinda stiff around flash and Batman but it’s get worse after most of them have revealed their secret ids and the jls so confused

Billy 100% thought Batman had all these fucking gadgets bc he was like some high up government official and then he found out no Batman’s just some rich guy and he’s like god no why is that worse

Batman just doesn’t care (he does 💀 he’s so fucking offended esp bc Marvel used to call him Mr. Batman sir but also bc he thought it’d be easier to get marvels secret id and weaknesses) as long as it doesn’t affect missions but Flash is kinda concerned bc ‘I’m pretty nice to him…does he think I don’t like him?? Did I offend him?? Do speedsters like set off the magic balance or whatever??’ 

They decide to pair up flash, Batman, and Captain Marvel to make sure their issues won’t affect team cohesion so after they’re done rescuing these kids that got involved in some supervillains masterplan Batman and flash are doing the usual spiel of ‘the laws exist for a reason,’ ‘you can trust the police’ and ‘there’s no good reason to turn to crime’

These kids want nothing to do with that shit and they’re trying to edge away while making excuses ‘thank you sm!! But no this is so safe, I know this area so well! We can get home ourselves!’ as soon as Batman starts asking about their parents so captain marvel just grabs Batman and flash and starts flying in the opposite direction ‘do you see that?? No guys seriously look at this cool thing!!’ and Batman’s growling about ‘childish to a degree that’s entirely unprofessional’ and ‘needlessly endangering civilians, civilian children at that-!’ and flash is trying to mediate but batman is shoving documents in his face ‘They were runaways, they don’t have anywhere to go and now they’re on a hitlist’ the ‘you fucking imbecile’ goes unsaid but they all hear it so marvel takes them back to villains lair and grabs a henchman at random and goes ‘This guys a cop…you can check that with your fancy equipment, right??’ and batman checks solely to prove him wrong but that guy is a cop and so are about 60% of the henchmen they took out then marvel goes ‘So they wouldn’t have been safe even if you took them to a hospital or child services’

Before the id reveals there’s a mission where the police are involved and flash mentions something about police protocol and marvel is so concerned bc ‘you’re still undercover? How long have you been under cover dude??’ and flash is confused bc ‘you know I’m not undercover right?? That is my actual real life day job’ and no one believes him when he says marvel shot him the most disgusted look you can imagine and edged away from him 

Batman tries to hold a meeting to address how marvel deals with the police and it goes no where bc marvel is fucking menace and goes ‘don’t you do that too?? And technically I’m also a vigilante sooo’ and batman is scrambling to get the jls attention back like ‘marvel hits cops 62% percent harder than other criminals and is 43% less friendly when interacting with the police in any capacity’ but they don’t care bc they want to know why marvel considers himself a vigilante 

They start letting Marvel be the one to approach children and notice that he’s advising them on how to make food last longer and maintain good hygiene while taking care of themselves and a jl members like hey wtf?? and Marvel says some bullshit about how ‘he’s lived many lives and not all of them were charmed’ and it gets back to cyborg who starts a rumor that he was dracula bc he can’t believe marvel had the balls to look WW in the eyes and lie to her fucking face

[slaybestieslay946]

Your last uncle!percy fic was EVERYTHING and I was wondering if you could write another one in the same universe where reader and Luke go out on a date so Percy and annabeth babysit? And maybe more interaction with Percy and reader? Feel free to make it your own juts thanks so so much for your contribution to the Luke lovers with that last one you posted haha

Date Night

MASTERLIST

word count: 1000

pairing: luke castellan x posiedon!reader

warnings: none!

a/n: icl Luke is kinda a minor character in this one, and i chose to just have Percy in it coz i felt like it made more sense?? idk hope you enjoyed love u anon

“Ok, so, dinner’s in the fridge, as well as formula for Violet. James normally goes to bed at 8, but I told him he can stay up later if he wants.” 

You explained, as you flitted around the kitchen with a list in one hand and a clutch in the other. Your brother followed after you with an attentive expression on his face. 

Tonight was you and Luke’s first date night since Violet was born, and you had been looking forward to it for weeks. You’d spent the last two hours getting ready, and now it was just a matter of making sure everything was prepared for your favourite babysitter, Percy. 

You stood at the door, peering down at the list while you husband sat on the stairs, tying his shoelaces. 

“Honey, did I forget anything?”

“Hm, did you tell him about the thermostat?”

“Oh, shit yeah.” You turned to Percy, “The thermostat is broken, so if you need to turn on the radiators or anything you’ll have to do it by hand, but I mean, it’s summer so you shouldn’t need to.” 

“Ok cool. Sounds good.” 

“Alright. I think that’s everything. You have a good night, and call if you need anything or have any questions-!”

You were about to go on another spiel about caring for your youngest daughter's specific needs when your husband swept an arm around your waist and practically dragged you out of the apartment. 

“Thanks man, see you at 11!” Luke shouted, giving Percy a quick thumbs up before shutting the door behind you both. 

“Why’d you push me out!” You asked as you both began making your way down the stairs.

“Coz you need to trust your little brother and relax. He’s a good guy.” 

“I know that.” You pouted, “But I also know that he can be a bit scatterbrained sometimes, the boy needs detailed instructions.”

“That’s exactly my point babe. He’s not a boy anymore.”

“God don’t remind me. It makes me feel old.” 

“Sorry. You're not old. Now, stop stressing about Percy and enjoy the date night you incredible husband has so kindly planned out.”

You giggled lightly, rolling your eyes, but agreeing nonetheless.

*

The date went perfectly, and you were back by 10. When you walked inside the house, you were pleasantly surprised to see that it was still standing, and your son hadn’t managed to cause a mess while you were gone like he usually did. 

Luke went up to check on Violet, meanwhile you made your way into the living room, where you could still hear the low hum of the TV in the background. 

In the room, you could see your brother, and your son curled up on the sofa, both of them fast asleep, and snoring slightly. On the TV Cars were playing (James’ favourite), and on the table there were a few mostly empty bowls of snacks. 

You laughed quietly, remembering the movie nights you and Percy had had all those years ago. 

After you left Camp half blood to go to college, he’d come over to your house a few times during the school year, in which you’d have movie marathons, pillow fights, and intense mario kart competitions. 

It’d always end the same, with the both of you passing out on the couch at 2 in the morning, cheeto dust covering your fingers and popcorn kernels all over the floor. 

They were some of your favourite times with your half-brother, when you could forget the worry of getting killed by monsters or the like, and have fun with your only sibling. 

“Hey, Perce.” You whispered, shaking him slightly. It didn’t take much to wake him, and soon his eyes were fluttering open. 

“Oh, Y/N. You’re back already?” 

“Yeah, it’s 11:30.”

“Really?!” He asked, loudly, and you quickly shushed him, pointing to the sleeping child beside him. 

Percy slapped his hand over his mouth, mumbling apologies. You rolled your eyes at him, helping the man off the sofa and leading him out of the living room and towards the spare bedroom (aka Luke’s office).

“You can stay here tonight if you want? It’s pretty late.” 

Your statement was confirmed by a loud yawn from Percy, to which he begrudgingly nodded. 

You directed him to sit in the nearby armchair whilst you grabbed the sheets from the cupboard and began to make up the bed for him. 

“How was James?” 

“We had a great time. He’s a good kid y’know?”

“Yeah.”

“It reminds me of our old movie nights.” He said, his voice slightly wistful. He had always been so sentimental, just like you. 

“Funny. I was thinking the same thing.” 

“Do you remember that time we got snowed in?” He asked, laughing lightly at the memory. 

“Of course! And the snow was so high the pizza delivery man had to climb in through the window!”

You both erupted into fits of giggles and you had to pause in your bed-making to finish laughing. 

“I really appreciate everything you did for me, Y/N.” He declared suddenly, staring off into space. 

“I didn’t do that much Perce. You give me too much credit.” 

“No, I really mean it. You did your best to give me a normal childhood, and looked after me like I was your real brother.” 

You frowned, “You are my real brother. Just like James is your real nephew. And I helped you because you were a good kid who deserved it. You earned the life you have now. We all did.” 

He broke into a bright grin at that, standing up from the armchair to give you a big hug. You could still remember when he was so much smaller than you, just a kid. Now he was an adult, and taller than you (although that mop of curly hair gave him some extra height). Still, despite how tall he got, you were certain he’d always be your little brother.

“Thanks Y/N.”

“No problem kid.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

If You Can't Dance 3

Warnings: dubcon, noncon, other possible triggers. Proceed with caution.

Note: this is what you get when you encourage me. Please leave any and all feedback! 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

Part of The Club AU

You login for the day with your usual set up. A mug of peppermint tea, your favourite sweater, and your gaming chair set to the most ergonomic setting. You connect to the company's shared server and go through the verification. It's tedious but necessary. You're certain there will be many tedious tasks to come as the merger looms heavy over the newly absorbed startup.

As your Teams pops up, you scroll through your tasks and prepare to start your usual squinting hunch at the screen. You grab your glasses and put them on. You really need to start wearing those.

Bing! You have a message. Oh, jeez, it's Jensen. Your manager, at least for the time being. You don't know what his new job will be in the unified structure. So many questions but you're more concerned with the backend.

'Morning, how's it going?'

He's casual and approachable. At least, from what you can tell over virtual text and the occasional video call. He checks in now and then so you assume this is just the same.

'Alright. Getting started for the day.'

The three dots pop up then disappear, then a new message appears.

'Did you enjoy last night? Didn't get to say hi, you looked like you had fun tho.'

'Oh. I guess.'

'It was nice to see everyone. Anyway, business. Meeting at nine for coders. Invite coming.'

You stare at the screen. Great. You hate team meetings. You always have to give and update but you don't have much to say. You do your work and it's right there for them to see. Why do you need to explain it?

'Got it.'

You send your response and ignore his reaction; a thumbs up. You put a timer on, knowing better than to trust yourself. You go back to your usual, trying to settle in with your minty brew. Last night has put everything off-balance.

Slightly agitated by the spontaneity of the event, you join the Teams meeting and try not to look at yourself among the five rectangles on the screen. Jensen's glasses glare in the camera and you take your own off, hoping to escape behind the blur of your vision. G is there too, the only other coder you've worked with in the company. He's a strange guy, quiet, and no one knows his full name. The other two, Marc and Dharshi round out the group. All of you sit silent, waiting.

"Oh, uh," Jensen unmutes as he seems to remember he's on a call, "alright, guys, I'll try to keep this short. There's a lot to do but I really didn't think that this message should come through an email."

You check your mug, cold and empty. You have a bad feeling about whatever message he's referring to.

"So, I know we've been doing work from home for a while, but, uh, with the new company, we're being asked to consider a more hybrid model. No decision has been made yet but next week, you are all required to report to the new headquarters so that we can meet our new coworkers."

"What?" Dharshi exclaims as Marc scowls. G just stares blankly, you think, it's hard to make out clearly. You probably look just as dull.

"I know, I know, I'm trying to get us down to only a couple days a week in office," Jensen explains, "right now, there's no decision made but we do have to try. There's a different culture with Blue Forest but I think we'll be okay."

G hangs up and Jensen sputters. Dharshi and Marc let out odd noises and you just sit there.

"Oh, must be a bad connection," Jensen laughs nervously, "so... uh, I'll follow-up with G and see you all Monday."

No response. Jensen fills the void with his usual managerial spiel; let me know if you need anything, yada yada. The call ends and you're left deflating in fractured safehold of your home office. Maybe you will all be too awkward and they'll just decide to keep you hidden away. You can only hope.

Oh and don't forget, you still have to go get your car after work.

🐞

Monday comes too fast, your weekend fading into a marathon of Fortnight and nature documentaries. You pull out your most acceptable outfit. Another long skirt and a turtle neck with oxford boots. Hmm, it's more Anne Shirley than business casual.

You drive into the heart of the city, the GPS guiding you to the modern office building with its transparent walls and sleek black structure. You grab your laptop bag, a messenger with butterfly patches sewn onto it. At the door, you're stopped and let in after verifying your Employee ID. You're told to go to the front desk to get your new credentials.

After you get sorted, you're sent down the hall to a conference room. You pass several offices and people you don't know. Your new coworkers. You grip the strap of your bag as a woman pops out of Room 1161B, the very one you were told to go to. You stop short as she smiles at you, her frilly blouse tucked into a sleek white skirt.

"Oh, you must be a new one, I'm Catarina," she offers her hand and you just stare at it. "You'll be in here for the Tech Orientation. There's tea and coffee, some pastries, and full catering will be available at lunch."

"Thanks," you mutter and peek into the empty room.

"You're so early," she praises, "sorry, I didn't catch your name. I need to check you off the list."

You enunciate the syllables clearly so you won't have to repeat yourself then turn into the room. You look around at the tables. Not the traditional long intimidating tabletop but several throughout the space. You don't know where to sit, if you should choose a particular seat, so you go to the waiting urns by the far wall.

You peruse the collection of tea bags. Chamomile, green, Earl Gray...

"Ah, pardon, could I trouble you for English Breakfast if they have it?" A voice nears before the footsteps reach you. The shadow stops beside you, the voice frighteningly familiar. You grab a bag of the English Breakfast and hold it out without looking over. It can't be, what are the odds? "Oh..." he says your name. The accent, the recognition, he knows you and you vaguely know him. Jonathan.

"You work here?" You wonder as you continue to shuffle through the packets.

"Yes, and I assume... you do too. Now. You are among the newly acquired?"

You nod and put down the box of teas.

"Is there something wrong? You don't like the selection?"

"No peppermint," you shrug.

You sidle along and grab a paper cup, instead pressing the spout for the large jug of cold water. The man fills his cup with hot water before tugging on the string of the tea bag, steeping it as he nears you again.

"It's rather a coincidence," he preens, "are you excited to start?"

You know you shouldn't be honest so you do your best to lie, "yeah."

"You certainly sound it," he laughs, "well, please, have a dessert... and a seat. We'll be all out before you know it."

"Thanks," you surpass the plate of tarts and croissants. You sit at the table nearest the corner and stare at the cup of clear water. You should've known to bring your own tea.

[galexystern]

(he's a) regular

paring; spencer reid/barista!reader

rating; G / T

warnings; use of y/n, fluff!

word count; ~3.5k

desc/prompt; barista and person who has a ridiculous coffee order

read on ao3 / masterlist

The door opens with a jingle and you smile reflexively. "Hi, Spencer," you call out, looking up just in time to see his (adorable) face come into view just past the espresso machines.

"Morning, Y/N," he replies in his soft, sure way.

You stop restocking cups and lids and make your way to the register. He stands in front of you, wearing his coat buttoned all the way to the top with a scarf wrapped around his neck and his hair flying every which way.

"The usual?" You ask while trying not to giggle.

"Seeing as how I only ever order, and therefore drink, one thing," he answers, "yes, the usual."

You ring up what has to be the most ridiculous order you've ever had to make in your life: a dirty cafe au lait (i.e. coffee with a shot of espresso) with 1/4 coffee, 1/2 steamed half & half, and 1/4 whipped cream, plus three pumps of vanilla syrup and mocha drizzle. You'd asked him once why there was both drip coffee and espresso, because it seemed redundant to you, and he'd launched into a spiel about the different effects of coffee and espresso and how he needed both to properly function. While it had been nice to hear him talk so much, you'd had to tune out to actually make the drink without screwing it up. So his voice had been more gentle background noise than anything else - one you were more than happy to hear.

After he pays - always with cash - you move to the bar. It's still before the morning rush, so you're doubling on register and bar while your co-worker finishes things up in the back. Actually, you're always doubling when Spencer comes in, since he comes in at the same time every day (when he's around). So you know how to make his drink just the way he likes it.

You sink into the movements like an often-practiced dance. Add coffee and shot. While shot is pouring, steam half & half. Make sure the whipped cream is full and fluffy. Add vanilla after shot. Pour in half & half. Top with whipped cream and mocha drizzle (which you usually form into a smiley face or heart). Cover with lid (ruining your mocha decoration). Hand off to a smiling Spencer.

"Here you go," you say as you give the cup to him. You watch as he drinks to make sure it's good. He hums in contentment and grins at you.

"Perfect as usual," He says.

You give a tiny curtsey. "I do my best."

"Well, it's always good."

You grab a rag and clean up the mini mess you just made with his drink. "No case today?"

"Not yet," Spencer replies, still standing at the end of the bar, watching you clean. "But you never know. I could get a text as soon as I walk outside."

"When did you guys finish the latest one?" You throw the rag back in the sink and lean a hip against the inside of the bar, opposite Spencer. "Had to be the day before last, right?"

He looks at you curiously while taking another sip. "Yeah. How'd you know?"

You look at him like it's an utterly foolish question. "'Cause I didn't see you two mornings ago, but you came in yesterday."

"You notice when I don't come in?" Spencer asks, and he's got this soft awestruck expression, like he can't really believe it.

"Of course," you reply, shaking your head at his obliviousness. "I always notice. My mornings always seem to be missing something if I don't make your absurd coffee-espresso-cream concoction."

"I'll have you know--" He starts on another one of those lectures, but his phone chimes, cutting him off before he can begin. You try to hide your disappointment as he checks his message and looks back at you with a semi-sad expression.

"Speak of the devil?" You ask, and he nods.

"Unfortunately. I gotta go." Spencer sighs as he puts his phone away. "Thanks for the drink, Y/N."

"Anytime."

"I'll see you around."

"Use that big brain of yours to solve it quickly so I can make your drink again tomorrow!"

He laughs as he walks away and out the door, into the fall chill. "I'll do my best!" You hear him call before the door closes with another jingle.

Looking around at the empty coffee shop, you sigh and get back to restocking. Even though there isn't a guarantee that you'll see him tomorrow, Spencer always leaves you with a smile on your face, and a brighter day having talked with him.

;

"Hi, what can I get for you?" You look up with a fake smile, but it quickly becomes a real one when you see who's next. "Spencer! I missed you this morning."

"Hi, Y/N," he replies gently, and you have to lean close to hear him over the morning rush commotion. "Sorry I'm late."

"I don't care when you come in." Though that was a little bit of a white lie. "I just want to make sure you get the caffeine you need to catch those serial killers."

"Yeah, well, we got back late last night after finishing a case, and I slept through my alarm."

"Put away the bad guy?"

"Bad girl, actually."

"Ooh, interesting," you say as you ring up his order. "Tough case?"

"Surprisingly not." Spencer pays - with cash - and you hand back his usual change. As you brush fingers during the exchange, you have to hold back your shiver. "Quick and easy."

"Good. I'm glad you're back safe and sound."

He blushes and you stifle a giggle. "Me too," he stutters out.

As much as you don't want to, you can hear the grumbling of everyone lined up behind Spencer. "You're good to go," you say sadly. "You know where to get your drink."

"Thanks, Y/N," he replies as he edges away.

Before he can completely step away, you blurt out one last thought. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

He smiles softly. "Hopefully." And then he's gone and someone else is taking his place.

As you take the next orders, you can tell the exact moment Hannah - the person on bar - has picked up and read Spencer's order, because you hear a "What the damn hell?" quietly muttered. Trying not to burst out laughing, you focus back on your customer to get your mind off it - and Spencer.

But that's easier said than done, because two minutes later, Hannah is next to you. "There's some guy who's insisting you make his drink."

"Who?" You ask as you hand back some change.

Hannah just shrugs. "He's at the end of the bar."

You look and there stands Spencer, who waves embarrassedly at the end of the bar. You grin and turn back to Hannah. "Take reg for a minute. I'll be back."

She replaces you with ease and you make your way to the bar. Going through the motions, you make Spencer's drink how you always do. Capping it, you hand it to him. He's got a sheepish expression, so you just raise your eyebrows in response.

"She didn't make it right," he explains.

"We make it the same way," you reply, amused.

"Categorically untrue. You make it perfectly."

You smile. "Take care, Spencer."

"You too, Y/N."

And then you lose him in the crowd of people and go back to the register. As Hannah finishes with a customer, she asks, "Who was that?" She's got that lilt in her voice that tells you she thought he was cute and wants inside information.

"Spencer," you reply simply. "He's a regular."

"I've never seen him before."

You shrug. "Well, he's my regular."

As you two switch places, Hannah looks at you with a raised eyebrow. You pretend not to notice and start to help the next customer. She lets out a snort at your avoidance tactic and goes back to the bar.

Once your customer has moved on, you glance towards the door, hoping to see Spencer's hair above the crowd. But he's long gone.

;

"Y/N?"

You know that voice.

"Oh! Hey, Spencer!" You call out from the back, appearing a few seconds later. You set down the pastries you had been moving to the case, wipe your hands on your apron, and walk to the register. "You're here early."

"Yeah," he replies. "I want to get to work early. Our current case has us all stumped and I want a head start."

As you ring up his usual, you're struck by how frustrated he sounds. And when you look up to get his money, there's a crease between his eyebrows that looks like it's been there for a while.

"Everything okay?" You ask tentatively, moving to the bar.

Spencer follows you. "Yeah, it's fine."

You can tell he's lying. But it's not your place, so you don't say anything, just let the silence permeate.

"Actually," he continues, "it's not."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He seems surprised. "Can I?"

"You're the only one here," you say, motioning at the empty shop. "You're more than welcome. If you want to."

"Well..." You hand him his drink and he does something he's never done before - he sits on a stool at the end of the bar. "We're not really sure what the evidence is telling us. It all seems so random. There has to be a connection, but we can't see it yet."

"Can you tell me about it?" After cleaning the bar, you lean your arms on the counter opposite Spencer, giving him an interested, serious expression.

He looks around the shop himself, and after confirming that it is indeed, empty, nods. "All of the victims are females in their twenties. The cause of death was strangulation, indicating a personal vendetta, though stab wounds were found on the torso. No signs of forced entry but signs of sexual assault. All of the victims were friends in high school, but grew apart after. We can't find a connection between them besides that." You hum, thinking through the information. Spencer goes on, "We predict a male unsub, but we can't tell why he's choosing these girls."

"The stab wounds," you ask, "where on the torso?"

"In the back."

You take a few minutes to theorize in your head before speaking again. "I don't think it's a guy."

Spencer's eyebrow crease grows deeper. "What do you mean?"

"Alright, I don't know anything about their personalities, but the attacker - unsub - literally stabbed them in the back. Think about it: if the connection is high school, what do high school girls do best?"

"Bully," Spencer supplies, catching on. "And strangling them shows that the unsub personally hated them. Maybe they collectively bullied the unsub."

You nod, starting to smile. "And who do girls bully?"

"Other girls." Spencer wants to return your grin, but looks more confused. "But what about the sexual assault? That's usual a sign the unsub is a male."

"Well," you muse, "I don't know if you know this, but gay female serial killers do exist."

Something clicks in Spencer's mind and he looks at you with wide eyes. "That's it!" He jumps off the stool, leans over the counter, and hugs you. Awkward as it is with the bar between you, it's also pretty amazing. "Thank you!"

As he leans back, you hold out a hand. "That'll be $100. Consulting fee." His hand actually starts for his pocket, so you grab it with a laugh. "I'm joking, Spencer! I'm just glad I could help."

The hand you're holding clutches yours and he looks at you with a huge smile. "Well, you absolutely did. I think we can wrap this thing up now." He cocks his head. "How did you even come up with this?"

You shrug. "I used to be a girl in high school, bullied by other girls. I know how nasty they can be." He nods, but you can't resist giving another piece of personal information. "But I'm also a writer. Making connections is what I do."

"Well, I'll be sure to buy your book when it comes out."

You scoff. "As if. You'll definitely be getting a free signed copy."

Spencer's grin widens. "Good." Then he looks down at his watch. "Oh, I gotta run." He squeezes your hand one more time before letting go and picking up his drink. "Thanks for the help."

"I take it I'll see you tomorrow?" You hide your hands in your apron pockets to conceal their shaking.

"It's a date!" He shouts as he rushes out.

Shaking your head, you go back to the pastries.

;

A couple weeks later, you're working again. Spencer had indeed come back the next day, triumphant about catching the unsub and grateful for all the help you gave. He'd even mentioned it, and you, to his team, and they were apparently impressed. He'd broached the subject of actually paying you, but you'd waved it off - knowing that you helped was good enough.

It also renewed your interest in actually sitting down and writing a book. But you are at a loss for what to write about. Mystery seemed like a good place to start, but could you come up with a full-fledged plot, complete with twists and turns, red herrings and surprises? Besides, fiction isn't really your forte. You feel much more at home with nonfiction.

So you're stuck.

It's a tough day - you're frustrated by your lack of inspiration and progress. Even your visit from Spencer hadn't been able to fully raise your spirits, though it had made the feelings subside for a while. But they're creeping back up again.

Tiredly, you look up at the next customer, pasting on a fake smile. They order something semi-complicated and you're forced to make them slow down so you can catch everything. By the time they pay, both of you are properly frustrated, and they leave without even a "thank you." Rolling your eyes subtly, you gesture for the next customer to step up.

"Y/N?" You look up to see Spencer standing in front of you.

"Spencer? What are you doing here?" You sputter out, shocked to see him here in the early afternoon. As long as you've known him, he's never come back during the day, no matter how much you wanted him to.

"I um, I--" He's blushing and stuttering again, and it soothes your irritated soul. "I wanted to see you again."

That makes your irritated heart start to pound. "You did?"

"Yeah," he says, trying to breathe evenly. "You seemed...not entirely okay this morning, and I was worried."

"That's really sweet, Spencer."

"Is everything okay?"

"Um..." You trail off. You should just fake another smile and say everything's fine, but this is Spencer. Spencer isn't just another regular, and you don't want to treat him like he is. Your encounters mean something to you, and so he means something to you too. Even if that feeling is unrequited, you don't want to treat him like anyone else.

You look around and find Delia, your supervisor. "Is it okay if I go on my half?" You ask her. She nods amiably, so you motion Spencer to the side. Taking off your apron and hat, you cross from behind the counter into the front of the store. "Follow me," you tell him, and make your way to a secluded corner, far from the rest of the staff and patrons. It's a small space and Spencer has to sit pretty close to you, making your breathing quicken. He smells like pine and something fresh. Shaking your head, trying not to let that deter you, you set your things on the table and exhale.

"You can talk to me, Y/N," Spencer says softly and you smile a little.

So you explain to him your frustrations with your book and writer's block, and how you can't seem to find a source of inspiration despite feeling the need to write something.

"I just don't want to be working in a coffee shop my whole life, you know? I'm a writer. I'm supposed to be spending my time writing, not taking orders and making drinks and cleaning spills. But I don't know what to write about. And I don't know where I'm supposed to find it."

"I understand." Spencer comforts you. He hesitates, but finally touches your hand lightly. "It sounds difficult. But your dreams are good ones. And I think you should follow them. Even if it means doing something crazy."

"Crazy like going backpacking in Patagonia?"

Spencer chuckles. "If that's the kind of crazy you need. Or a different kind--"

"Like quitting?"

"Yeah, if that's what you want."

"It might be what I need."

He nods, not looking at you, his expression slightly sad. "Then you should do it. Even if it means I won't get to see you every day anymore."

You stare at him, surprised. His face immediately turns bright red and he begins to stammer, trying to explain. "I mean--um, I...well, I--"

His stumbling words are so cute that it takes a minute for you to stop him. "Spencer," you say softly, moving so your hand is resting on his. He instantly stops talking, looking at you with a slightly pained expression. You smile. "I love seeing you every day too."

His face somehow gets redder and he keeps opening and closing his mouth. He's at a loss for words it seems, for what seems like the first time in his life. You laugh, loving it.

Eventually, he regains his composure and clears his throat. "Well, then, Y/N...do you want to go to dinner with me sometime?"

You nod happily. "Of course, Spencer."

And his smile makes everything in the world right again.

;

Three months later

"Favorite case you've ever worked?"

"That's a tough one," Morgan muses. "Come back to me."

You look at the rest of the team. "Anyone else?" But they all seem to be deep in thought as well. The only person who isn't worried about it is Spencer, who's already answered the question. Actually, he's answered them all. He was the first person you interviewed.

He leans closer to you and mutters, "let them think about it." You nod, taking your hands away from your computer's keyboard and grabbing one of Spencer's.

You're on the BAU jet, en route to a case in Phoenix with the rest of the team. After quitting your coffee shop job and starting a relationship with Spencer, you'd found your inspiration after all: Spencer himself, as well as the whole BAU.

Your work in progress is a book about the team, this time from an outside perspective. It's half interviews, half observation. Spencer had loved the idea (still does), and once he'd read some of your work, insisted you pursue it. You were sure the BAU wasn't interested in having someone like you tag along on cases, sticking your nose into their business, but you were pleasantly surprised: the team owed you one after you helped with that one case, and had agreed that this was the way to repay you.

You're sure Spencer had some influence, but you're just glad it worked out.

So here you are, a "consultant" on your first case with them, both terribly excited and outrageously nervous. Though Spencer is a great source of reassurance.

"How long should I give them?" You whisper, but before Spencer can respond, Rossi speaks.

"I always like when we team up," he says slowly, still thinking about it. "Like with Jack Garrett and his unit."

You squeeze Spencer's hand and then let go to type down the information. "What do they do?"

"They investigate international cases that involve American citizens," Hotch explains. "We've worked with them a few times."

"Ooh," you say as you type. "I'd love to meet them."

"I'm sure they'd love to meet you," JJ says with a smile, and you blush. Spencer reaches out a hand and pokes your thigh, encouraging you.

"What was Spencer's answer to this question?" Morgan asks with a teasing smile, clearly fishing for help.

You start, "He--" but Spencer cuts you off.

"Ah-ah," he says. "You'll have to find out for yourself when the book comes out."

You roll your eyes. "There's no guarantee this'll even be published, Spence."

"In my experience," Rossi says with a wink, "people are always interested in serial killers and the people who catch them."

"See?" Spencer looks at you with a smug smile, but you can see the pride shining through. You shake your head, trying to brush it off, but loving it just the same. You've already toyed around the dedication page about it:

To Spencer - for your advice for your encouragement for your reassurance and for your love.

I love you.

[mando-abs]

I just need y’all to know that I met Din Djarin at Disney World over a week ago.

Y’all

I was not prepared for how polite and sweet he was. Like, y’all don’t undertsand. I’m STILL thinking about that. Do NOT fall for his tough guy persona he puts up for his job. That man is without a doubt all soft under that armor.

I’ll put my experience under the cut but I do want to say many thanks to the wonderful friend of Din Djarin that greeted me that day. Cast members rock and he was no exception.

The Technical Stuff:

Okay, so beforehand, I searched online when was the best to see him and how since Din doesn’t have a set meet and greet in the parks. Din and Grogu typically come out of a literal hole in the wall on the far end of the marketplace (coming in the marketplace from the First Order side of the land) and they make their way through the market. Also, since this is a different meet and greet, how to approach them is different than usual meets. Din chooses who to interact with, and it’s never a guarantee if you will get picked. The best chance of getting picked??? Get there early. On the day I visited, I checked the My Disney Experience App to see they made appearances on the hour from official opening (so like 8:30 AM) until 3:00 PM. (And Disney is always punctual so you can guarantee that)

If you read all of that and were thinking “this is way too tedious to see one of the most popular characters” you would be correct. But I don’t make the rules, and I was very desperate to meet him.

Before Meeting The Mandalorian:

At about 10 minutes before he was scheduled to arrive, I was met by a lovely young lady who was already waiting for her man (I know I fellow Din lover when I see one). She confirmed the information I mentioned above because my family just didn’t believe me when I said I knew what I was doing. Because of this, I sat just behind her in hopes that she got picked first because she called first dibs lol.

After 10 minutes, Din came strutting out with Grogu in sling and handlers in tow. At this point, I was loosing hold of my facial expressions. I’m pretty sure I looked like

I don’t think I’d been that excited to meet a character at Disney since Aurora and Mulan when I was a little girl.

The handlers made sure there was enough space for Din and Grogu as suddenly, in the short span of time it took for Din to walk up, there was a small crowd forming and people calling over that the Mandalorian had arrived. The lady who arrived before me was called up first and she had her moment with Din and Grogu. Very happy for her. And then there was another before me. And then it was my turn :0)

The Actual Meet:

When I stood beside Din Djarin he immediately commented on my Mandalorian shirt (yes I wore a Din focus shirt in hopes I’d get picked, don’t look at me). He motioned to my shirt and said (all of this is approximate btw) “Your allegiance is appreciated.” And I want to say he shook my hand? He was shaking a lot of hands. Like I said, he was polite! Anyways I was like, “Of course!” And then I went into a short spiel about how his and Grogu’s stories have traveled across the stars and how much they meant to me (super cheesy I know, but let me have my moment). But y’all. His response??? The softest, “Thanks☺️”

I almost died. Melted on the spot. And his body language was kinda like “aw shucks ☺️☺️☺️” (as close as a mandalorian can get to that). The worms in my brain will hold onto that one for a while.

Finally we took a picture, and when all was said and done, he turned to me, nodded, and said the ever famous line, “This is the way.”

Grogu:

Grogu was not in the picture during this interaction. 😂😂😂 I’m ashamed to say that I totally forgot about him. He was very quiet!!! And he was on the other side and I wasn’t about to stare past a man’s hip. I like to think he was in his own little baby world during the whole meet.

[phantomenby]

Huh?

Request: Could I have an imagine with the poly lost boys with a gn partner who is very good at making people feel dumb? They can insult anyone and make them double check their words as they didn't realize reader was insulting them.

Make sure to stay hydrated and please message me if you need more clarification. Stay well!!

Thank u I am drinking dehydrate jooce

TW: violence, othering, a bit gory

David's eyes flickered in your direction when he heard your deep intake of breath, watching your face grow darker as the college guys Marko and Dwayne had chosen for the night went on and on about their stupid college-business-internship-shit you didn't care to hear about for another second.

So far one of them had wrongly explained both the stock market and tax laws, while the other boasted about how his parents think taxes are just used to give handouts to lazy people.

David nudged you as your fists began to curl, "wanna go?"

No you shook your head subtly, you didn't want to leave you wanted to murder them.

Even the usually hardy Paul had begun to make less than playful jests towards the pair a few times, one of his hands slowly gripping Dwayne's thigh tighter in order to make his intentions clear.

I mean, they're going to die anyway, sometimes they would survive, you didn't need to eat often but when emotions were high and someone particularly grated on your nerves they practically wrote their own death sentence.

Deciding to finally butt in you leaned forward, bare arms crossed on the old wooden picnic table, taking your chance as 'Darren' or 'Dudebro numero uno' was in the middle of a spiel about how the government was really full of communists who hated America-

"Hey, you know what I just love," everyone's eyes lifted to look at you, dudebro numero dos giving you a less than enjoyable glance over, you flashed your teeth at him before moving back to Darren, "I love how easy it is just just like, print more money, and fix the economy."

You were, how did Marko put it last time, 'talking out of your ass'? Like honestly, who even needed to take some boring, stressful economics class when money was- wait you should be saying this-

"I mean, money isn't real," numero dos - or Moe as you now recalled - clenched his jaw, "so we can just print more y'know, then everyone is ri-"

"Thats not how it works-" Darren tsked, making Marko smirk beside him as he turned his eyes back to his date, "if you actually went to some form of um, education-"

"Actually I went to Yale," that was true, only it had been back in 1873 and you were most definitely not there as a student, more of a diner, "and trust me, none of those dunderheads treated money like it was real."

At least not until they were begging for their life.

That stunned them both for a moment until the two of them decided to go for you together, mimicking your pose, but draping themselves much futher across the table than you had.

"If you went to Yale then what college were you in, hmm?"

You scoffed, shrugging and responding just as plainly, "the business one obviously-"

"There isn't a business college."

"Yes there is."

Moe straightened up, irritation lining his brow, "no there isn't-"

You cut him off, "did you go to Yale?"

The human spluttered, caught "well- well no but that-"

"So how would you know?" You had them now.

Moe tried again, "that doesn't matter, it's public information-"

"Yet you, and your genius friend, don't know all twenty-three Yale colleges?" There were only fourteen. Max.

The man might as well have combusted into fire and ash on the spot with your last few words.

Darren brought you back to him with a long, drawn-out breath like he was trying to suck everyone into his lungs. "Listen, bud, people like us know more than people like you-"

"Yet you didn't know that there was a business college at Yale, sounds as though people like you don't know as much as you think you do."

You stood from the table, hearing the two men follow you while your pack waited behind, letting you enjoy yourself with them.

Paul turned to Marko while you disappeared into an area hidden by some trees and thick overgrowth, "told you they were duds dude."

Marko rolled his eyes, letting his gaze move to Dwayne who was lighting up a joint, reaching for it as soon as the brunette was done.

He knew Paul was right, he just didn't like when it meant him being wrong.

The four of them listened on as the far-off screaming began, musing about their day like you hadn't just stomped Moe's femur while Darren garbled through his lack of vocal cords.

It didn't take long for you to finish up, returning to them with a few extra stains but just in time to finish the third smoke that had been lit in your time away.

"Next time we should just eat them."

Dwayne grinned in agreement, looking where you stood across from him, "next time."

[elekinetic]

Sending u asks for plane.

Okay, imagine the party take a trip together and they have to fly.

How does the plane ride go? Like does anyone have plane anxiety, do they eat way too many snacks, etc.

um. we don’t have to talk about how you sent this the LAST time i was on a plane.

OKAY so sticking w my personal headcanon that karen and hopper negotiate government payouts to all of the kids (full college rides, trusts, etc) as reparations for the utter bullshit they’ve been put through (and in exchange for their silence), i think the party takes a group vacation after they graduate high school. their parents are super hesitant to let them out of their sights, but they deserve some fun and dustin has an aunt in florida so it’s not even like they’re gonna be all alone, okay?

getting to indianapolis from hawkins just to get to the airport is a nightmare. the party had a sleepover in the wheelers’ basement so that they could just get up and go the next day, but one crazy movie marathon and two bottles of cheap sparkling wine nancy slipped them later, it is a struggle to pull their asses out of bed. the party has never been particularly punctual, so maybe it takes holly shouting down the stairs and dustin whacking his friends with pillows for them to get a move on. they have to be at the airport in two and a half hours, and it’s a three hour drive. well, usually. lucas climbs in the driver seat of the wheelers’ station wagon (mike: ���shouldn’t i drive? it’s my car!” everyone: “NO.”) and races down the indiana highway, pushing 95 in a 70. it’s fine! he’s a great driver, really, and there’s no one out cause it’s five am (jesus christ) and listen as long as NO ONE tells their parents, it’s fine. el insists they blast the radio, and max — who basically pushed mike down the stairs so she could call shotgun (that’s not what happened, asshole! it totally was! guys, c’mon. what? he started it!) — indulges her ever madonna loving whim. will smiles and grooves along while dustin and mike white knuckle grip their seats.

they pull up to the airport and get their luggage checked with like, ten minutes to spare. they get settled into their seats with a sigh of relief, way in the back of the plane. they all sit on the same side of the plane, two sets of three seats right in front of each other. el, max, and lucas sit in the front, with will, mike, and dustin behind them. dustin immediately pulls out a blanket, pillow, sleep mask, and earplugs (“you’re laughing now, but i’m gonna sleep like a goddamn baby while you fuckers whine about neck pain all week.”) and promptly passes out. el and max quiz answers in a teen beat magazine she picked up from a newsstand (“is that really necessary? we’re already late!” el, gravely: “it is the most necessary.”) max idly curls her hand around lucas’ as he flips through an old comic.

will tries to doodle random passengers on the plane, but mike is freaking the fuck out and they haven’t even taken off yet. so, will shuts his sketchbook, props his chin up on his elbow, and asks mike what he thinks of this new campaign concept he heard about. mike starts rambling about how yeah sure, reintroducing mirakil is a cool concept but his motivation makes ZERO sense now that his family is dead and c’mon, lipiria is RIGHT THER—-hey! [max shoves her seat back at the same time dustin elbows him.] he gets so wrapped up in his spiel that he doesn’t even realize they’ve taken off til they’re a quarter into their flight. he’s still super anxious and gets up like three times to walk around the aisle before will makes them switch seats. mike can’t stop bouncing his leg, and his knee is pressed right up against the seat in front of him (because the leg room on this plane is abysmal, and he made sure to let everyone know that when they first sat down). el pops up and turns back to him:

“i understand why you are upset. we are in a very big metal box and are very high up. it does not make sense why we are not falling to our deaths.”

“um, el, i don’t know if that’s helping him—“

“i make things move with my mind, mike. that does not make sense. stop kicking my seat,” she huffs, and plops back down to her seat. mike goes red. will stifles a laugh. max giggles from where she was seemingly asleep on lucas’ shoulder, who’s eyes are twisted shut, asleep.

dustin wakes up just as they touch down in florida. he does not hesitate to share his frustration that they did not save ANY airline peanuts for him. (he refuses to hear them when they tell him that the peanuts weren’t even that good, or when they point out that he has a peanut allergy.)

[sweetlikehoneystingslikeabee]

Shhh everyone's asleep, post self ship fanfic from ages ago

S/I/OC x Riddler

Tw: nsfw 🔞

Belle was anxious as she waited in her uber going over to Edward Nygma's house. It's the first time she's been invited over- all the banter and clever word play culminating in an actual date. He'd been so *persistent* in a way she found charming, damn her instincts.

She pulled at the skirt of her dress, suddenly feeling self conscious. The choker on her neck felt tight, though she knew it wasn't. Of course she'd decided to dress up! Most of the time when he had seen her, she was so casual, usually in some kind of t-shirt.

What in the world did he see in her anyway? Sure, he'd said there was a list if she wanted to hear it, but- really, what could he want? They were so different in a lot of ways. He was immaculate and always well groomed from what she'd seen. Well spoken, brilliant- a narcissist with plenty of flaws, yes, but she would expect a guy like that to want a model. Or a rocket scientist, at least!

Yet as she read over the texts of the morning confirming her coming over for dinner... he really did want to see her. Maybe for a polite "the chase is over, but I had fun" spiel. No. No, no, he's not THAT socially inept... is he?

The car stopped in front of his home and she felt her heart wanting to stop with it. Instead she gave the driver a thanks and got out, straightening her clothes to be presentable. The dress had pleasant different colored vertical stripes and a collar that dipped down to show *just* enough cleavage. She wished she had a mirror to check her hair and makeup.

Too late to leave now. Her knuckle raps on his door, no indication this place belongs to the illustrious Riddler save for a small green question mark by his mailbox. That and the camera that looked down at her above the door. The place is relatively discreet among all the other buildings around it. If she didn't know how extra he was, it would look like a regular apartment or townhouse on the outside.

She can hear a sort of shuffling behind the door before it opens and immediately her heart goes for a loop.

Her mouth goes before she thinks, "You're casual! I didn't think you even owned a t-shirt!"

Yes, in fact, for all the times she had ever seen him dressed in a full suit- Edward Nygma was in an open button down and plain shirt underneath. His hair wasn't perfectly pushed back with product. His brows might have even been a few small hairs out of place! It spoke to a vulnerability she hadn't quite seen from him before. His bravado lowered.

He clears his throat before grinning, "And you're not! Look at you. Do a spin."

Belle scoffs with a nervous laugh, "Stop. I'm just- I thought-" She rubs her arm and looks away.

It clicks in his mind and he puts his hand to his head, "Of course! And here I thought an evening at home should be more comforting. Should I change?"

"Oh god please don't I already feel embarrassed." She says, "You look good. I was just surprised."

He ushers her into the building, quick to hover his arm just above her waist. He's looking at her up and down, seemingly very pleased.

"And I was thinking while you look wonderful normally... this is something I could get used to." His arm ends up on her shoulder as they go towards the kitchen.

"What, the makeup and everything?" She's ready to roll her eyes.

He leans in closer to her ear, almost in a purr, "No, I meant seeing those legs on full display. And these *curves.*" A finger brushes over her waist and she almost jumps. Before she can scold him, he's pulling away to step in front of her, facing her.

With all her nerves, she hardly even noticed the heavenly smell in the house. As it catches her nose she takes a deep inhale and smiles.

He holds up a finger, "Ah, yes! The menu. Lobster tails."

"Geez, aren't those expensive?" Belle asks, "You didn't have to go all out."

"Then I shouldn't tell you about the steaks." He says with a raised brow, "You finally said yes, I need to impress! Well. I thought the clothing would balance it out, really." In truth, he hadn't expected her to dress up and he wanted to match. Now that he's seen her, however, there's no way he's going to just say that.

The idea of balancing out makes her laugh, "You're a dork. It's cute." Despite herself it rather spills out and she's flush.

What she wasn't expecting was him to flush as well, "O-oh. You... think so?" He clears his throat and is pulling out a chair for her to sit on in the small dining room of his home.

Her heart flutters and she's blunt, "I mean. I always thought so? Not always but. Once I got to know you." She's flustered remembering that first time. Being caught up in one of his schemes and catching his attentions. Being stuck with him for that short time period and seeing, every once in a while, that villainous facade slip.

"Ah yes. That plan should have worked... but I suppose if... if meeting you meant it failing..." he stops talking, his face getting redder, "I wish I'd recorded you saying I'm cute, dear Diana. Proof you're fond of me."

Her eyes narrow. *That* nickname. It had confused her the first time he had called her that, after one of their run-ins. Diana, the goddess of the hunt, of the wild and the moon. Once splashed a hunter with her spring water to be set upon by his own hounds for gazing upon her bathing.

For some reason, Edward associated her with the moon- one of his compulsive little habits was to categorize. One of his "love letters" had even been attached to a Moon tarot card stuck into her door. Animals ended up fitting as he found out more about her. Over their meetings it became a unique pet name.

Belle leans forward in her chair, "I'd hope me being here is proof enough."

"There can never be enough evidence of one's affection." He points out before going back to the kitchen. The smile on his face gave her butterflies. Internally she chastised herself. Ridiculous.

As she looked around she realized his place was... actually nice. Cozy. Way less clutter and organized chaos than hers. She wondered if it had anything to do with his diagnosed OCD or if this was him impressing her.

Green was definitely the main color in different shades. But not so much so to be overpowering. Several pieces of question mark themed furniture or small pieces that she could see. In that way he was delightfully predictable. A shelf of puzzle boxes and complicated brain teasers she could never hope to solve without some help. Another shelf of devices she can only assume he made himself.

No computer that she can see from her seat. Either out of sight or his technology and workspace was somewhere else entirely. A basement? Or a different building entirely? It was nosey, yes, but she couldn't help being curious given his status as a member of Gothams infamous rogues gallery.

All of that wiped from her mind, however, as Edward returned with two plates in hand. Once a plate was put in front of her, she couldn't help but swallow back her excitement. Damn. He really did call her out on what she'd like.

"This looks and smells wonderful!" She praises, "I... didn't know you could cook."

Edward sits across from her, preening, "I'm skilled with more than technology, Miss Jones."

"Oh please, stop the bond villain routine." She scoffs, which just makes him give a short laugh.

He puts up a pointer finger, "Hold that thought." He gets up from the table and digs through a cabinet in the kitchen before returning with a candle and a box of matches.

Belle almost snorts with laughter, "You have not been saving that!"

He returns his own grin, "We get power outages in Gotham, as I'm sure you know. But... it creates a mood, doesn't it?" As he lights the candle he snaps his fingers and the lights in the house dim. Belle moves to cover her mouth, face red, and he would think she's possibly embarrassed if it wasn't for the delighted look in her eyes.

Her hand moves over her eyes and he can see the wide grin on her face, "You're so dramatic, oh my god."

"But you like it." He says, feeling at peace seeing how happy she is.

There's a moment where she pauses and catches her breath. A sigh, "Yes. I do. I really like it. And you."

The admission leaves him with a dopey look on his face and he lets out his dorkiest chuckle. In front of anyone else, he'd be embarrassed for it but for her he feels... safe. At home. It doesn't hurt it makes her laugh just as loud and as embarrassing. It's infectious.

When she realizes, she's putting food in her mouth to change the subject. Immediately she's humming, "This is so good! Thank you for making dinner."

"You're so very welcome." He replies, drinking in her pleased reactions. The rest of the dinner passes as expected. Light anecdotes about their lives, a joke here or there. Nothing too deep or too vulnerable- them having the dinner at all was vulnerable enough.

Yet as everything cleared and she was following him into the kitchen, she felt... there needed to be more.

In fact she jokes, "It's only 8:30. Did you... want to do something? Or-"

"Don't even suggest you've overstayed your welcome." He stops her, putting rinsed plates into his dishwasher, "But what could we do... I suppose hacking Gothams mainframe doesn't do it for you?"

She shakes her head with a grin, "I was thinking more of a movie? Unless that's too low-brow for you."

That laugh again, "Cute. A movie is an excellent choice." She can't see it but he feels the heat under his collar. She wants to spend more time. With him! He needs to calm down. If she'd asked to see the workshop he'd likely hand her the keys and that just won't do.

"What do you think of a mystery?" He asks, that cat like smirk showing over his face, "See if you can figure it out before the credits."

She gives him a look, her brow raising, "Better than a riddle, I guess."

"As you said, the night is young so don't tempt me." He laughs and leads her to his living room. She doesn't say it, but is absolutely not surprised he would have a fancy flat screen and a cushy couch for optimal viewing. She can see game systems tucked into an entertainment center underneath.

He puts out his hand to the table in front of them, grabbing the remote, "Alright. I know a good one."

Dramatic music swells and several familiar names and credits flash over a river. It's older. She doesn't recognize film until she sees that man with the mustache, Hercule Poirot, sitting by a pyramid.

"Death on the Nile?" She asks.

Edwards face goes sour, "You've seen this?"

"It's Agatha Christie." She laughs, "Next you'll try to show me Alfred Hitchcock."

Hitchcock was his next choice.

Belle is quick to pat his leg, "I haven't seen this in ages. It's fine."

The affection is enough to make him completely forget about trying to make her guess. Funny thing, that. The colorful cast of characters, the aesthetic- it's all so easy for her to relax next to him on the couch, slowly coming to lean on him. He tries to be nonchalant about it, his hand going to rest over her arm. It's when she moves her arm and his hand falls to her waist that he hesitates. Her hand laces over his and he feels a shiver up his back.

Internally she's panicking and deciding if she wants to go further. Her eyes close and her head leans on his shoulder.

His breathe tickles as he turns his face, "You can't be falling asleep."

"I'm not." She says clearly, "Just. Enjoying the moment." Her voice is quiet and both of them have racing hearts.

His lips move to her hair and lay a soft kiss atop her head. She feels like she could swoon. Instead she looks up at him and places her own kiss on the corner of his mouth. There's a fluttery sort of sound that comes out of him and he sighs. His grip on her waist gets tighter as his other hand goes to her chin. He guides her face to his and her hand finds purchase against his chest. The kiss between them feels electrifying.

Her lips are still buzzing when he pulls away. There's calluses on his hands that she only notices as they run up her thigh and threaten to push up her skirt. Her breath catches and her hand stops his. He's quick to pull back.

"I- I'm sorry did I-" Did he misread all of that?

Belle shakes her head, "No, I want this I'm just-" She kisses him on the jaw and stays close to his body, "It's just been a minute. I'm worried I- you know-"

His hands go to her face and he looks her over, giving a pleasant smile, "I want you, Belle. All of this." He kisses her forehead and her shoulders untense. The look she gives him... that trusting, soft vulnerable look- its enough to get him right back where he paused.

His hands go up her skirts as they make out and her hands twist in his shirt. There's a look of surprise as his fingers reach a particular fabric. She can feel the friction of his skin against hers as they dive beneath the band of her underwear.

"Lace? For me?" He asks with a smug glance.

She looks away for a moment before admitting, "I thought there was a possibility."

"So prepare." Edward nods, "Oh, I was right. I knew we'd make a great match. From the moment I saw you."

"Is that so?" Belle laughs as his kissing get to her neck. A soft moan and she holds onto him tighter.

"Of course. I'm always right. I'm a genius!" Edward pulls away just enough so she can see his overconfident smile, "And these... oh, these need to go. What color are they, I wonder...?" She says nothing as his hand yanks down on her panties and he catches a peek of the most delightful shade of green. Her face flushes.

Yet he doesn't tease her. Instead he continues his kissing, the underwear swiftly hitting the floor. The pad of his thumb delves at the very edge of her lower lips and Belle shudders. He moves up and over the clit, circling over with just enough pressure.

"Ff... fuck, Edward-" Belle breaks away from the kissing and allows her head fall back.

The riddler goes for her throat, "That's the idea- hm... I think we should change venues." A nip over that soft flesh to feel her shiver.

"Yeah maybe... maybe the couch isn't..." Belle can't complete her thought at first, but feels a quiet whine in her throat when his touching stops.

Edward gets up from the couch, giving her a hand to stand, "As much as I'd love to get it on like teenagers on the couch, I think we'd both be more comfortable on the bed, hm?" Belle briefly thinks on it. Both of their backs. His knee.

"Yeah, that's... that's fair." Belle kicks away her panties and waits for him to pull her down the hallway to his room. Not exactly a tour but she does take in the decorations and art that lines his walls even as they round the corner to the room at the end.

She has to stop herself from laughing at the ridiculous (what she assumes is) custom grey and green comforter- carefully embroidered with question marks and geometric patterns at the bottom. It's so him. The little work desk next to the bed covered in grease, tools and a half finished project. A closet filled with she assumed a various collection of suits. A dresser that she wasn't actually sure of... but she'd love to find out at one point.

All of this she takes in just before she feels his hands unzipping the back of her dress. Instinctively her hands go to her front as the dress falls forward. Those callused hands go to her shoulders, pushing the fabric away. His lips find her bare back and she shivers as she moves her arms to let the dress fall to the floor.

"Cold, dear Diana?" Edward murmurs, "Let me warm you. Let me the grace of touching you. If you should not allow me this, let me be be cast by your spring water and eaten by my hounds-"

Belle finds herself flustered by his words but turns around to stop him, "I want nothing more than for you to touch me, Edward."

She unbuttons his pants as his fingers unclasp the choker around her neck. Then he tries to start on her bra. A growling hum as his pants start to fall and her hand dips over his hard cock. A small squeeze before he's grabbing at her wrists.

"Too much?" She teases, biting her lip.

Edward has a desperate dry tone to his voice, "Get on the bed. And get that damn bra off." He gives her hands back, his own pressing on her hips and guiding her to lay down. The bra quickly thrown off somewhere in the room. His pants and underwear thrown somewhere else in the room.

He's quick to knock her legs apart and press his middle digit inside of her, curling along her walls. Pumping slowly, his thumb going back to her clit. The sharp sound of her moan makes him twitch and he kisses at her torso, then her breasts. His tongue goes to work around a nipple, trying to study what elicits the best response.

She can hear him take a deep breath and sigh out. Her own concern brushes his hair back and gives a light tug and he stops his ministrations. Her voice is soft in the dark room, "You okay?"

"Y... of course! I'm just... is this good?" Edward Nygma for once struggling to find the words, "You're so beautiful. I want to taste and touch everything." His finger slides out of her and she leans up on her elbows, seeing him better.

She wishes she could save this image in her mind. His flush face and messy hair. His cock leaking precum and she hasn't even really done anything yet. How desperate he looks right now for her.

She could get emotional, someone being like this for her.

"It's so good, Eddie." She leans forward to kiss him, "I just want to feel you inside me. Is that okay?"

His eyes widen and he seems to have lost his brain function for a moment, "....Yes! Yes. Yes, yes. I can- hold on!" And he's digging in a drawer next to the bed feverishly before pulling out a condom, "Let me just-"

"Let me." Belle moves to stand on her knees on the bed. She pulls the condom from his hands and tears it open with her nails. Just as she positions it, she moves closer to kiss his chest and then his jaw. Her hand rolls down over his cock and she can feel him shudder at the attention. It isn't long before she's moving her hand up and down. His hands go around her back and his face goes to hide in her neck.

Its only for a moment before he's sighing, "Come on. There's plenty of time for that later."

"Oh, you're expecting rounds?" Belle laughs before she lays on her back and spreads her legs.

Edward has that smile on his face as he lines himself up, "No. But I am expecting you'll be wanting more of me." She can't even make fun of him, of his narcissism- he presses his cock inside of her and any laughter turns to a giggling moan.

A smile on her face and she wraps her legs over his, pulling him deeper. Hands in his hair, this time to pull his face closer. Her lips going to his shoulders, tasting and nipping. Something about it, her using her teeth just so makes him calculate his thrusting. Pulling out slowly just to fill her up in a swift push. Pausing just that one moment to feel them joined at the hip.

Her own mind gets hazy and she looks him in the eye to tell him, "You're so handsome, Eddie...."

He gulps, moving faster, eyes focused on her, "I... I am?"

Belle nods, lopsided grin on her face, "You are. You're handsome and smart and- oh, you feel so good-" He seems almost stunned by the sudden compliments and his movements get... sloppy.

He loses his words and moves to kiss her neck, teeth and tongue as she had done to him. Her nails pressed into his back but she resisted the urge to scratch or accidentally hurt him.

"Please don't stop-" was all she could manage as she started to reach that peak, "Edward, fuck, please please I'm so close-" her grip around him was almost white knuckled as she came. He pressed in deep, the stimulation of her finishing almost pushing him over the edge.

"Edward..." she murmured as she came down and his own actions sped up. Her body clenched slightly at the sensitivity as he continued. She wound her fingers in his hair and mumbled in his ear, "You're amazing... You're so handsome and I feel so, so good and- and- ah, ah-"

As she stuttered, Edward moved his lips over hers. The sloppy thrusting moved to a standstill before he pressed in again, his groan quiet against her.

He collapsed over her for a moment, his arms wrapping around her. He could feel her heart beating hard in her chest. His eyes fluttered.

"That was..." he paused to think of exactly what he wanted to say, "...spectacular." There. Amazing. You did it.

Belle put her own arms loosely around his back and sighed, "Yeah. That was- probably the best- You get it."

His brain booting back up, he smirked, "Oh? The best? I'm the best you've ever had?"

Belle pushes his face back lightly, "Get off. Your ego is blowing up with hot air." A scoffing laugh before she leans up to kiss him again. A soft smile. He's definitely going to remember that.

With a soft grunt, he rolls over and off of her, his hand going to his bum knee. As her eyes had adjusted to the light she could see the scars of multiple surgeries across the skin. He was lucky he didn't have a rod in there by this point. Still weary, her movements were slow, her hands going to his knee. Feeling the scar tissue.

"Ah. Yes, you've never seen that." He says, "I'm greeted by the sight every day."

Belle hums, "Didn't hurt too badly with you on top, did it?" She kisses his knee and he feels his heart flutter.

"N-no. No. Unless that's an offer for you to be on top next time." Edward winks. She rolls her eyes.

"Where's the bathroom? I'd like to clean up." She asks and receives a point to the right direction. The moment she's out of sight, Edward is ditching the used condom in the trashcan and finding underwear to put on. Getting back under the sheets and covers and almost posing for when she returns. Not too posed, though.

When she does return, she seems so... nervous. Her mouth opens, "Do you want me to...?" She makes a movement with her thumb behind her.

"Leave?! No!" Edward almost loses any of what he thinks is his cool appearance, "I- I mean if you WANTED to, I won't stop you but if you wanted to stay... I... wouldn't mind that either."

Belle laughs at the whiplash of his reaction before trying to cover her smile, "If it's really okay... can I stay?"

Edward has this look on his face that resembles a sad kitten left out in the rain, "I would like you to." The facade broken. As tired as he is, he realizes how desperate he is for more contact and affection.

Which is why he gets into a perfect spooning position for Belle as she gets into the bed with him. At some point during cleaning up she found her phone for an alarm in the morning. It's placed next to her glasses on the nightstand. As he holds her he thinks of how nice this would be... all the time.

Can't move too quickly, he knows. No, this is going to be healthy with healthy boundaries. From what he knows about her, she definitely deserves that much. She's so cute and warm and soft to hold-

Even as he falls asleep, Edward's hands and body find new ways to brush against her even as she moves around. Magnetic, almost. Her dreams are light and she feels... safe as she sleeps. Even the one or two times in the night when she wakes up, she sees Edward next to her and immediately falls back to slumber.

In the morning they'll both rush off to do different things in their lives. But she tells him goodbye with a kiss and that she'll talk to him soon. That along with the instant ping on his phone once she's home reminds him- yes, he was absolutely right to take the grand effort for her attentions.

[sim-bad]

last summer I was at my local green space writing and playing music on my speakers among other sunbathers. at some point some angry guy stomped in the park & try agress me about using my speakers on some ‘why don’t u play it in ur earphones’ type shit and a nearby sunbather came to my defence and said he was enjoying my music and rallied the other bathers to agree that they were also enjoying my music to ward him away.

after that we got into a chat about some of the discography I was running. I was playing astrud gilberto, ziyad al rahbani, betty carter, mid-air thief, salami rj louis like real mellow summers day shit! he complimented my ear and asked me if I made music I told him I just listened. he said to me “u should play because u can hear and if u cannot hear u cannot play even if u were taught” anyway, come to find he’s migrated from Japan to London, former band member for many years here and a mathematician and he was telling me about the mathematics behind musical theory, tempo and different progressions. we exchanged some artists and musicians and he gave me a name to search up in Bandcamp for his compositions but my adhd brain misplaced that paper and all I have are some other artists I had noted down as we spoke.

Before we go our separate ways he tells me to visit some cafe local to the park, two roads down from where I live. he says his friend owns the place if I say I know him I will get a discount. (cafe above) this is now one of my sacred local homesteads in ends. the guy who owns the cafe is a musician who makes a mean poached egg prosciutto olive oil fresh tomato spiel for me when I go. the framed images are exhibitions that he organises, so the art on the wall of the cafe is never the same. there’s also a board for anyone to add their flyers to. two acoustic guitars at the entrance and any kinda sweet wonderful person will rock up there and you’ll have a great conversation. any kinda background, builder, poet, musician, social workers, parents, old time friends. anytime I’ve gone I’ve randomly spoken to a stranger or a regular that’ll figuratively give me a handful of glitter to put in my mental pocket.

today I was explaining to some regulars, a duo of super dapper older English lads that I use noise cancelling headphones to help me filter out excessive sound that overstimulates me but I’m usually not actually listening to anything when I’m there. Mario plays a great selection so I usually tap in and chat for a while. they said they always knew I could hear them and they thought I was doing it for style (cute lol) the guys were super compassionate about my expression and were like ‘I’ve never heard of that before but I’m glad you do that to make yourself comfortable’. I gave another random customer a fit check. he came in and asked if his coat was too formal for the rest of the outfit he had on. it was a sort of navy lined jacket but he had well tailored corduroy bottoms some trainers and a brown and yellow addidas hoodie zipped up underneath. he had some sort of business casual meeting to attend I said the proportions of the lined coat matched his bottoms so he looked tidy and I appreciated the colour and texture combos. he said thanks for the review and left.

I forgot the guy at the park’s name. I’ve never seen him since, not at the park nor the cafe. I didn’t ask for contact details cause I just sort of intuitively thought I would likely see him local since we both lived in the area and it’s not that deep. I still think I probably will bump into him idk how or when but when I do I’ll thank him for introducing me to this place and give him my review of the music he put me on and carfet nobu and wata igarashi. i wrote the first edition of my newsletter in the park that day. i think i would share it with him too since the music inspired a lot of the expression. I felt too shy to share at the time despite him asking.

once upon a time my inner monologue would bark at me for speaking so much and perceived my curiosity and ability to engage as gullible and flighty. but man every fucking conversation every random interaction and exchange of resonance touches me and just gives me more glitter to put in my mental pocket. the juices of this life. the pure and innocent exchange with no expectation just absorbing what is good is something I value on a day to day basis. that conversation with that stranger that exchange of smile with a passerby that person who let u through the door - people you’ll never see again. or maybe will. who knows. thanks for the part u play in giving me a glimmer of vigor.

in a life that is transient in essence, larger concepts like joy, compassion and love are infinite.

[cedarboughs]

...for no holier temple has ever been consecrated by the heart of man — John Muir

Through all the years—decades!—that I’ve been passing through Lake Louise, Summiting Mt. Temple is something that’s always seemed a sort of unattainable dream, something for a higher class of mountain-lover to have achieved, to inspire us mere mortals. It’s the profile of the mountain, as seen from the Bow Valley, I think. It’s not only that it’s the highest summit in the area, it’s that it’s such a mountainous mountain. It shares that unique distinction also belonging to Assiniboine, Sir Donald, Robson, Everest and the Matterhorn, that great triangular prominence that makes it appear the prototypical, platonic ideal mountain. The glacier on the north aspect, plainly visible from the highway, just adds to that. It’s the topping splash of white on every child’s doodle of A Mountain.

But all those thoughts came before I ended up living, at least for a few short months, at the base of this Ultimate Mountain (at least of Upper Banff Park.) Before my friends made plans to do the south ridge scramble on what happened to be my day off. The weather was looking clear, and against all odds, there was space on the morning bus. The summer stars had aligned. I would summit Temple or turn back, and maybe never get such a chance again.

I bought two sandwiches and some dark chocolate, lay out layers, set an alarm, and went to bed as soon as I could get everything sorted.

When I say I got the early bus, I mean the early bus. The party I was joining (S and J, nameless and with no close-ups included to keep this blog anonymous,) had seats for the 5:00 AM to Moraine Lake. That was full by the time I was out of the deep, dark valley where I work and could send an email to affirm a seat. I managed to get on the 4:00 AM, figuring I could meet them on the trail before the scramble. Leave the house at 3:30. Wake at 2:30. By my calculation I could get five and a half hours of sleep at best. The perfect state for exposure climbing.

My driver was a cheerful man who tried to give a bit of a spiel about the valley's history and attractions. I suspect he did this more successfully at more civilized hours of the morning.

Most of the bus hung around the parking lot, probably hoping to wait around for sunrise on the Rockpile. There were four of us bound for higher elevations. Two sped off far ahead, and I departed in close step with a guy named Dan. If you've ever been on the internet at all, then you've seen The Photo, so you know what view I had.

Except that, you know, it was 4:30 AM, so.

So, yeah, no crystal blue. But in my shot you can see another piece of providence. That waning gibbous supermoon lit up the trail like not quite day, but better than any sphere I could ever have dared to hope for that long before dawn. Dan had a headlamp glaring down along the trail in front of him, but I was happy to keep mine in my pack and walk by the spectacular moonlight. We more or less stuck together for safety, checking in as we leapfrogged through the night woods on the switchbacks up to Larch Valley, but I took some space on purpose just so that my eyes wouldn't be washed out by his light. Plus, my preferred vocal bear deterrent (not usually needed in such a busy spot, but again: 4:30 AM) is full ballads and shoddy Lord Huron covers, so you want space from humans for that. Look, saying "Hey Bear!" every five minutes, as Dan was doing, just isn't as much fun.

Orion was clearly visible reclining backwards over the silhouette of the Deltaform as we entered the more open ground of Larch Valley. Dan set up here to film the sunrise and I carried on alone.

While back towards the highway, dawn began to rise, fading first all stars but Venus, and then the Morning Star too. 5:45 AM.

Light came on in earnest as I ascended the scree switchbacks to Sentinel Pass. A little sadly, Temple itself blocked out the sunrise, but from the pass I could see first alpenglow colour Mt. Lefroy across Paradise Valley. There I lay back in the shelter of the piled-rock windwall, ate an apple, and closed my eyes to pretend that the rest might count as an extra few minutes of sleep. 7:00 AM.

S and G arrived not too long later, finding me lying with my head on my pack. We had a quick second breakfast, helmeted up, and left the well-trod trail for the rough scrambling route up the scree, guided by S's book with its descriptions of landmarks. Most of the ascent is actually fairly banal, switching back and braiding across steep scree among more solid bits of slab, though of course the views are incredible.

The exciting bits are the three rock bands which require some scrambling. Chief among these is the second band, the crux of the whole route. Here about ten metres of proper vertical climbing are required up two small chimneys split by a small bench and marked with swatches of paint. In this picture, taken from the middle bench, G tackles the first chimney while S plans her route. 8:30 AM. The two others were on their way down, apparently after starting from the lake at 1:30 and hiking beneath auroras.

Paradise Valley spread ever farther below to the southwest. Horseshoe Lake's curves and islands grew more map-like as we climbed equal to, then above, the pinnacle of Mt. Hungabee. The shadow of Temple itself across the valley just proved what a mountain this mountain really is. Look at that triangle. 8:45 AM.

Coming onto the summit ridge, the wind suddenly howled from the west. Though there was still a few hundred metres of vertical remaining to the summit at this point, our altitude was already above all but the highest surrounding peaks, and we truly felt on top of the world. 9:45 AM.

At the summit. The glacier is visible behind, dropping away towards the Bow Valley. Just after 10:00 AM. Lake Louise village, highway interchange, and ski hill base is visible in the valley trees just behind S’s blue helmet. A wall of ominous wildfire smoke hangs on the Cascadian side of the Great Divide. We called family and friends to show off the spot, had a snack, and departed. As we did, a man showed up with a ukulele. As his embarrassed request, as much as we wanted to hear a song from the top of the world, we left him to strum some chords in solitude.

It had taken me five and a half hours to summit, and it took nearly as long to descend. We’d climbed 1600 vertical metres over seven and a half kilometres, to an ultimate altitude of 3544 metres. Temple is the third-highest point in Banff Park and one of only twelve 11,000-foot peaks in the entirety of the Canadian Rockies. For you adherents of Pythagorus, that’s a hypotenuse of just over 7700 metres, and an angle of Lots, because I’ve forgotten how to Socahtoa now that I’ve left Math 30-1. S’s Garmin had her at 30,000 steps for a low estimate. I saw Dan again on the way down, just above the crux, and wished him luck. I hope he made it, though I can’t see how he wouldn’t with as much as he had done. Our legs were six bits of jelly by the time we lay down in the tourist-thronged Moraine parking lot to wait for the bus. We’d worshipped at the Great Temple, and it was a worship that would stay with us forever.

[the-iceni-bitch]

Masterpiece

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x fem!Reader (OTP ninja and puppy)

Words: ~900

Summary: Ransom gets a little jealous.

Warnings: explicit language, implied p in v sex, kinda revenge porn, slimy ex Steve Rogers, slightly possessive Ransom, warring testosterone, 18+ ONLY!!!

A/N: Just a silly little dirty thot about ninja and puppy that popped in my head and I popped out in like an hour.

I am no longer doing taglists so if you want to stay up to date on all the latest filth, follow my sideblog @the-iceni-library and turn on notifications.

“Ran, I got arrabiata and I got bolognese, you want one or should we do halfsies?” You grabbed a bottle of wine before heading into the living room where Ransom was sprawled over the couch watching TV. “Oh god, why are you watching this?”

“What?” He turned to give you a lazy smirk as you frowned at the sight of your ex showing some reporter through his Brooklyn brownstone on the screen. “Your parents wouldn’t shut up about this asshole, and I got curious.”

“For fuck’s sake.” You rolled your eyes as you sank into the couch next to him, huffing when he pulled you against his chest and kissed your hair. “This wasn’t what I had in mind for this evening.”

“Yeah, well I wanted to see just how big of a douche you wasted your time with.” He chuckled when you slapped his hip, winding his arm across your chest and pulling you closer while you grumbled at him. “Not that you can tell with all these softball questions.”

You just hummed agreement as you grabbed your glass of wine and took a sip, growling when the reporter asked if there was anyone special he was going to be spending the holidays with and he went off on his usual spiel about no one special since the girl who broke his heart. The same fucking one your parents tried to lob at you whenever they called to check in. And now they were doing the fucking art tour, because Steve was such a sensitive painter and made all the girls soak their panties. He probably got that reporter to suck his dick after this interview. Fake ass nice guy schtick…

“What the fuck is that?” Ransom’s hiss brought you out of your little internal monologue with a snap, your head whipping towards the screen until you let out a hiss of your own.

“That rat bastard!” You were frozen with rage as you watched Steve talk about the painting that was on screen to the reporter. The ‘tasteful nude’ painting of you spread out on his couch while soft sunlight filtered through the window and managed to obscure the most private parts of your anatomy, and you couldn’t see your face, but still.

“Is that you?” He didn’t know why he was asking, it was obviously you. He couldn’t decide how he felt about your ex showing a nude painting of you off to whoever was watching this thing. Yes he could, he was pissed.

“I’m gonna kill him.” But apparently not as pissed as you, he took your wine glass from you before it shattered in your grip. “That blonde asshole.”

“Ok, think that’s enough of that.” Ransom shut off the tv when you started vibrating with barely contained fury, cooing softly and rubbing your shoulders to help you calm down. “Let’s go eat in the dining room.”

“But…”

“No baby, let’s not give that dick another thought.” Like he wasn’t obsessing over how that motherfucker probably jerked off to that painting every night.

It was two days later when you brought up the blonde bastard again, frowning at the sight that Ransom had greeted you with when you got home.

“This is because of Steve, isn’t it?” You chewed on your lips and tried not to laugh as you looked at the white sheet and the buckets of body paint.

“Maybe.” Ransom brushed his lips behind your ear as he pressed his chest to your back and worked at unbuttoning your blouse. “Is that gonna be a problem?”

“Not necessarily.” You let him slide your blouse off and worked at unzipping your skirt. “I won’t say I haven’t been wanting to get back at that dick a little bit, but I fail to see how this is going to achieve that.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan.” Ransom purred when you turned around once you were fully naked, lifting his arms over his head so you could peel off his sweater and humming when you pressed your lips to his nipple.

“Sure you do.” You grabbed a bucket of paint and dipped your fingers into it, smearing it over his chest while he grabbed his own bucket. “We could just do this, though, you know I love feeling you up.”

“We could, but I want my own piece of art to show off.” He grinned at your laugh when he poured the whole bucket over your tits, turning you around and shoving you on the bed unceremoniously before climbing on top of you. “Now hold still, want to make sure we can tell it’s you.”

—————————————————————————

“Hugh!” You were angry all over again, walking through the front door and getting even more mad when you got a look at the painting hanging over the fireplace. “Hugh Ransom Drysdale! Where the fuck are you?”

“What’s up babe?” You were gonna smack that smug smirk off his face, little cocky bastard.

“You put our sex painting on Instagram.” You were seething, your vision getting red at the edges as he just shrugged at you and dipped his bourbon. “Which I could have maybe been ok with, but you tagged Steve in the damn post.”

“Did I?” He gave you a look of false innocence as you moved to stand in front of him, and you hated him so much because it was hard to stay super mad when he had that extremely pleased look on his face at how much chaos he had probably caused.

[teamconductors]

Hi! Do you perhaps have any pointers on how to write the twins? I personally think you have one of the most accurate characterizations of them! so do you have any tips? Dialogue or general writing points? As I plan to eventually include them in my own pkmn au comic and I feel just a bit off with my writing for them so far? and I’d love to hear what your thought process Is! ^^

Okay, I'm gonna list some pointers and then include some other stuff under the Read More. Because I really like oversharing.

In terms of characterization, I love how the twins have a lot of differences in addition to their similarities. The most obvious one is Ingo expressing himself primarily through words while Emmet does so primarily through his facial expressions and actions, but there's others as well.

Like yes, obviously they both love trains and battling and raising pokemon. They work so well together that they don't always need to verbally communicate actions in battles. But they aren't the same person.

In terms of dialogue, looking at their quotes pages helps a lot. I pull out these pages when I beginning my editing stage because they usually don't sound quite right during my first draft. Here's Ingo's and here's Emmet's for reference.

Honestly, writing their stuff is a skill! I don't know why they're like this, and I'm sure this is me being like "I love these characters a lot so I wanna make sure I write them perfectly". In the original Lost Tracks one shot, I think I did at least 4 read-throughs specifically for their dialogue to make sure they sounded Right. Now I need 1 or 2.

For my in-depth rules of thumb...

Ingo specific:

Ingo really likes to overshare his feelings. I think it goes hand-in-hand with him relying on his speech to express himself.

He also talks formally! He does a lot of pleasantries and likes to refer to people with their titles (ie Lady Sneasler, Guildmaster Irida)

This is a man who takes his jobs seriously and passionately. This isn't to say Emmet doesn't care, but Ingo strikes me as the person who is so sincere about his role as a train conductor/warden for the Pearl Clan/pokemon rescuer that it scares others sometimes

Ingo seems really introspective. He's thinking about the past and especially the future a lot, ie encouraging people to improve themselves and continuously seek out new goals

(which I think is why he became so depressed in PLA and is still wistful in Lost Tracks)

(PLA/my fic specific) Ingo does things that he doesn't quite know why he does. Probably the most obvious example from my fic was when Ingo charged into the Distorted Floor to check on Team Stardust. He's bothered by this

Emmet specific (I have a harder time with Emmet ngl)

Emmet speaks very matter-of-factly and yet doesn't sound formal. I don't know how to explain this, just look at his quotes page

He tends to speak in shorter sentences

He's also blunt and a bit sassy. Ingo may be his impulse control, but his filter is only halfway equipped properly

Emmet prefers to live in the Now. He is concerned about following schedules, but he can get lost in the moment (especially in a battle) and is focused on having fun now

Because Emmet has a harder time with talking, he does a lot of scripting ("I am Emmet", his spiels about following the rules)

(Ingo does scripting as well but Emmet's is more obvious)

I've always interpreted Emmet's signature smile as him masking! People like it when you smile, right? This isn't applicable to dialogue probably, but it helps form the image I have of him in my mind

Looks up to Ingo, big time. He does care for the safety of others, but the care he has for the safety of family (including his pokemon) is even more so

Both of them:

You can't overdo the train references. You just can't. Whenever I think I did too much, I look at their quotes page, and I'm just like "yeah, they're really like this. These guys are goobers and I love them"

They share a brain cell, especially when they're together. They don't always talk at the same time or see eye-to-eye, but they're on the same page on a lot of things

Ingo tends to lead the way in battles, with Emmet following his lead. This is a trend, not a hard rule

Obviously headcanons affect how you write them. I subscribe to the 'Ingo and Emmet are autistic' camp and that influences how I write them. I like to show them reacting to different textures, and Emmet has explicitly stimmed multiple times, for example

I hope this makes sense? I definitely missed some things, but this is just me rambling about train guys

[biconderoga]

Part 1: Here

Scenario: The death of Itadori hung over Y/N’s head at every waking moment. The circumstances were shrouded with mystery, and Y/N couldn’t do anything but carry on with a heavy heart. Minor Spoilers ⚠️ (Just briefly mentions the way Itadori was revealed to the first years).

Word Count: 2,069!! (My longest piece to date-)

“It’s me! The dearly departed Itadori!”

Megumi liked to think he could take a joke. He could handle teasing on his behalf. Gojou was relentless in that field, so it wasn’t a foreign experience for him. Years of dealing with the blindfolded sorcerer taught him to deal with sometimes tasteless jokes.

But this…this was the most distasteful joke he had ever seen. It left an incredibly bad taste in his mouth. He would rather chug curdled milk than deal with the spectacle that was playing out in front of him. His so called dead comrade was wheeled in by Gojou, and surprise surprise! He was alive and well.

Megumi closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and took a very deep breath. He opened his eyes again, and glared at Itadori. Itadori, sensing the tense atmosphere, feebly made jazz hands in hopes of alleviating the mood.

It did not work.

“So, um,” Itadori rubbed the back of his neck, and continued in a quiet rushed tone, “Sorry about not telling you I was alive and all...”

Nobara’s eye twitched at his apology while Megumi turned around to join the second years. The shikigami user didn’t have time to deal with this. The Goodwill Event currently took priority. Perhaps after it was done, Megumi could properly wrap his head around Itadori’s revival.

He didn’t know what to feel. If anything, he felt anger. Anger on Y/N’s behalf. How would she feel about Itadori’s return? She didn’t know how he died, and would especially not understand the fact he was alive. Megumi was not one for strong emotions, but the swelling of anger in his chest was too great to ignore.

“Oh? What’s got you so pissy, Megumi?” Maki leaned against the wall as she placed her head on the back of her hand, “You seem upset. Shouldn’t you be a bit more relieved about Itadori?”

Megumi silently huffed, “It’s nothing.”

Nobara, who was marginal to Maki, rolled her eyes, “Always so secretive.”

“You know you don’t have to keep visiting me…”

Megumi merely nodded at Y/N’s statement, “I know, but it’s only fair that I check up on you.”

Y/N groaned at his statement, “I appreciate the sentiment, but you don’t have to babysit me. I may have been Itadori’s girlfriend, but I’m not nearly as rash as he was.”

He nodded once again. Megumi himself didn’t understand why he habitually returned to Y/N’s residence. She didn’t properly know him, and if anything she most likely associated him with Itadori’s death. He wouldn’t be surprised if Y/N was just being polite. She easily could’ve been putting up a facade as she silently seethed on the inside.

“You can say you hate me,” Megumi paused as he chose his next words, “You can kick me out if you want. I know you probably blame me for Itadori’s death, I know I blame myself.”

Y/N’s breath hitched as Megumi ended his miniature spiel. She shook her head before she firmly placed her hands onto his shoulders, “We haven’t known each other for long, but Itadori did tell me you were strong. I’m not sure where your strength lies, but I do know it’s not your fault. Itadori’s stupid mistakes don’t have anything to do with you. If anything, I hate myself for not asking him more questions,” She lowly whistled, “and I would be lying if I said I didn’t blame Itadori. He was always doing the most, and never took a break.”

Itadori was right, Megumi did like Y/N. Despite the fact she knew absolutely nothing about the circumstances of his death, Y/N was still able to continue forward. She was hurting, but she still took her time to confirm her faith in Megumi.

“Before he…” The sorcerer paused and swallowed thickly, “…died. Itadori told me I would like you.”

Y/N weakly laughed, “And do you?”

“You’re nice…” Megumi smiled, “Itadori got lucky.”

With the goodwill event said and done, Megumi found himself back in his dorm. His blinds were shut, and he was curled beneath his covers as he nursed a headache. No matter the occasion, Megumi found himself injured…

A quiet knock resounded throughout his room followed with a weak, “Hello?”

Megumi shifted under his covers and huffed, “Who is it?”

Silence was heard before the voice mumbled,“Itadori.”

‘Ah,’ Megumi thought, ‘He’s alive’ Following all of the hustle and bustle of the festival, Itadori’s miraculous revival was the last thing on his mind. Megumi processed his answer. He liked his lips before he uttered a, “Come in.”

Itadori entered the room and stood awkwardly by the entrance. He rubbed the back of his head, before gathering the courage to speak. “I heard you made everyone the meatballs I taught you how to cook…”

“Yeah,” Megumi sat up, “Everyone liked it.” The black haired male scratched his head. Itadori was usually a straightforward and happy-go-lucky person, this tense small talk was beneath him. “What do you need Itadori?”

“Ah! Well-you seem distant? Are you still mad at me?”

Megumi shrugged and feigned indifference, “I was never mad. I’m just not used to dead people being revived.”

“Oh, true!” Itadori visibly calmed, “Well if your not mad, can I ask you something?”

Now there was the Itadori that Megumi knew, blunt and straight to the point. The male raised his eyebrow, a silent indicator for Itadori to continue.

“So um…about Y/N…” The vessel fiddled with his hands, “She’s probably real mad I went M.I.A without telling her. Especially, after going a two months without contact! Can you be my excuse? Like we can say we were on a surprise field trip in the middle of the country.”

Megumi sighed at Itadori’s rambling. It seemed to be an ongoing trend that he was the bearer of bad news. First, it was Itadori’s death to Y/N. And now, it was the fact Y/N now thought Itadori was dead. What was first an act of kindness on Megumi’s part was now a huge problem for Itadori.

“So whaddya say?”

“She thinks you’re dead,” Came Megumi’s blunt reply, “If you’re ever going to talk to her again, she deserves the truth. She isn’t going to blindly trust you after thinking you were dead. It’s the least she deserves.”

Itadori’s eyes widened into saucers, “Who told her? Gojou-sensei said no one would—“ He threw himself to the floor and rolled back and forth, “He said since she was a regular person no one would bother telling herrrrr.”

As Itadori continued his senseless bemoaning, Megumi took in a deep breath. The black-haired male rose from his bed and approached Itadori. He gently kicked his side (in a silent hope that it would shut him up) before he spoke, “I did.”

“You did? I thought you hated doing that type of thing.”

“I do,” Megumi rolled his eyes, “But it isn’t fair that she would’ve been waiting for a dead person to call her.”

“But I’m not dead!”

Megumi’s vein nearly popped out of his forehead, “Well I didn’t know dumbass!”

“Can you pass me the ginger paste?”

The male nodded as he foraged through Y/N’s fridge. Once found, he tossed it to her. The girl fumbled to catch it, and playfully glared at Megumi when she did.

“Did Itadori teach you how to make the meatballs?” Megumi queried, “He taught me how.”

“Yeah right, it was me who taught him.” Y/N kneaded the meat in the bowl, “He failed to mention that didn’t he?”

The stutter of the subway cart knocked Megumi out of his thoughts. To his right was Itadori, who appeared to be contemplating something. They exited the cart, and like many times before, they started on the familiar route to Y/N’s residence.

This current predicament eerily mirrored his first meeting with Y/N. Except this time, Megumi brought good news instead of bad news. Hopefully Y/N would take it well and not blow up in anger. She had every right to be angry, but Megumi had an inkling she would hear them out.

“Should I surprise her like I surprised you and Kugisaki?” Itadori pumped his fist, “She’ll probably swoon and fall into my arms! It’ll be super romantic!”

Megumi deadpanned, “I don’t think she’ll appreciate that.” Was Itadori truly that dense? Didn’t he see how Nobara reacted to his revival? He could only imagine how his actual girlfriend would react, “Didn’t you see how Kugisaki reacted?”

“True…” Itadori pouted and placed his hands on his hips, “She looked like this, and she kept glaring when I spoke.”

“I wonder why…” Megumi rolled his eyes at Itadori’s theatrics.

“Then what do you suggest?”

“I suppose I should break it to her…” He ruffled his black locks, “Then when she’s ready you can come in.”

“Alright…”

With a nod, Itadori walked out of view. Megumi took a deep breath, before he knocked on the door.

“Where do you keep running off to? The second years keep nagging me whenever you skip training.” Nobara crossed her arms, while she tapped her foot on the ground as she waited for Megumi’s answer.

“To visit Y/N,” Came his short answer, “After I told her about Itadori’s death we exchanged numbers and kept in contact.”

“Oh…” Kugisaki murmured, “Tell her we should meet up sometime. Maki’s the only girl I’ve talked to on a regular basis,” She pinched her nose, “There’s too much testosterone here.”

“So…what is that you need?”

“Uh, can we sit down?”

“Right, ok...”

Megumi awkwardly trailed behind Y/N as she led him to her couch. He tugged at his uniform’s collar. Was his uniform always so stuffy? No, it was just the nerves. Megumi was at a lost about how to break the news. He wished it was as simple as watching a YouTube video titled ‘How to tell a girl their boyfriend isn’t dead!’. But alas, here he was, with a choked up expression painted on his face.

“What is it Megumi? You’re freaking me out.”

“Itadori isn’t dead.” Megumi truly needed to practice on his execution. His forward way of speaking could easily rub someone the wrong way. The poor guy couldn’t help it! His nerves always loosened his mouth. It wasn’t normal to just vomit information like that. His execution was so poor that he couldn’t help but internally cringe.

Y/N’s eyes widened, “You’re joking. This has to be a sick joke.” She leaned back onto her couch, “Then again you’re not really one for jokes.”

Megumi slightly recoiled from her subtle insult. It may have been nothing malicious on Y/N’s part, but Megumi was still irked. He could tell a joke! Instead of pursuing the matter any further, he kept his mouth shut. It was inappropriate to complain now.

“I found out a couple of days ago. I would’ve told you sooner, but I was busy with school.” He started, “It would’ve been unfair of me to just tell you over the phone.”

“C-can I see him?” Y/N mumbled, “Is he here now?”

He nodded, “I’ll grab him for you.”

Within minutes, Itadori is ushered into Y/N’s living room. Megumi quietly excused himself as he was not keen on being caught up in a couple’s quarrel.

Itadori was uncharacteristically silent as he witnessed the tears falling from his partner’s eyes. Itadori’s arm slightly raised out to her, but he ultimately faltered. He wanted to reach out and hug her, but he was unsure if the situation called for it.

“Y/N please don’t cry—“

“Two months.” Y/N hiccuped, “Two months I thought you were dead. I got no explanation. I didn’t even get to see your body.” She tugged down her sleeve to wipe her eyes, “Megumi was the only person I could talk to. He couldn’t give me a reason, but he respected me enough to tell me.”

“I’ll explain everything to you, I swear.”

“You’re an asshole for this…you tell me you transferred to some fancy school, and then you die! This isn’t some drama Itadori, you better not have joined some cult!” As her tangent ended, Y/N stumbled over to Itadori and threw her arms around him, “Please trust me, tell me everything from the beginning.”

Itadori tightly returned the hug, and littered kisses on her forehead. Once done, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, “Of course. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“So you did join a cult.”

“Y/N I swear it’s not like that-“

[diavolosthots]

YAYAY THERE OPEN!!! Okay so can I ask for Mammon angst with the brothers reactions to Mammon breaking from their comments

I looked through all 14 beadcanon masterlists because I couldve sworn I already did this. Turns out I only ever did this in fics.

Warning: angst? Maybe? Depends on your definition of angst. 

THE BROTHERS reacting to Mammon breaking from their comments

Lucifer:

Never would he have thought that Mammon would actually break. Sure, Mammon would give him the usual whine spiel of “I didn’t do it!” “Lucifer, please!” while screams echoed off of his walls, but never had Mammon actually… broken. Granted, Lucifer is more of a physical “I’ll show you!” type rather than a verbal fighter, and Mammon would usually take those like a champ. But him breaking from words? It’s unusual, to say the least. Of course he’d tell the rest of his brothers to stop immediately while he goes and takes care of Mammon. He is his favorite, after all. No direct verbal apology will come from him, but he will sit there and listen and then do a few of Mammon’s favorite things. That’s his way of apologizing. 

Mammon:

Usually he’d suck it up and just take it, maybe pout in his room later, but when he has someone to impress? Aka MC? How is he supposed to keep cool? The words always got to him and damn, he KNOWS he’s not the brightest star in the sky, okay?! Not everyone can be as smart as Satan, c’mon! But at the same time… it’s so, so exhausting and hurtful to constantly hear it. Yes, he knows there’s things he needs to fix, but habits are so hard to break. Having everyone around him yell instead of helping him isn’t doing any good, either. Of course he would break… At this point, it was just a matter of time.

Leviathan:

He doesn’t hate Mammon, far from it actually, but he wouldn’t consider him his favorite brother, either. Seeing Mammon break would, however, bring a lot of guilt to light and he suddenly finds himself sad along with the 2nd eldest. Yes, he knows that he doesn’t have a right to feel sad over this, but it’s hard because it just reinstates that he truly is nothing more than useless and stupid. Maybe even more stupid than Mammon. He wouldn’t outright go to Mammon to apologize, either, and only when he has had enough of his self-wallowing pitiness would he go and seek out his second oldest brother, mumbling an apology and inviting Mammon to hang with him. Maybe, just maybe, he would even let Mammon win at a few games. 

Satan:

His first reaction to Mammon breaking is… laughter. As a matter of fact, he and Belphie would most likely be the ones who add tears to the already streaming waterfall. It’s only hours later when he realizes that Mammon was truly, really breaking when he makes an effort to reconcile. Then the guilt hits him like a ton of bricks and honestly… if it weren’t for Mammon, he wouldn’t have half the thirst for knowledge he has today. Satan always told himself that being smart, being intelligent, was a necessity, but truthfully he just feared being played, especially being played by someone like Mammon. The second eldest does have issues that need to be fixed, no doubt about that, but they shouldn’t have taken it this far. He does go and apologize, even going as far as to planning a brotherly make-up dinner where Mammon gets to choose, but he knows Mammon would take advantage if he was shown too much kindness, so that’s where it stops. 

Asmodeus:

Truthfully, he tries to steer away from Mammon as much as possible, unless it benefits him in some way, shape, or form. Parties? Modeling? Mammon is the best one to go to for that, but actual, deep conversations that make one pour their heart out? Not really. Still, he does feel extremely bad that it has come to this point. They’re brothers, after all, and the last thing he wants is for Mammon to do something truly dumb. He does give a verbal apology and he even pampers Mammon for a die, offering an open ear and his shoulder, if he so wishes to use it. 

Beelzebub:

He’s one of the lesser culprits. Sure he has said his fair share of things, but more often than not, besides Lucifer, Mammon usually would come to him if anything was up. Crazy, right? To now be part of this endless batter, makes Beel quite sad. After all, he’s the one who would like for all of his brothers to get along and for them to be a real family. He wishes they were closer, although they’re already extremely close. Less of the fights… less of the accusations… more love. So he also verbally apologizes to Mammon and offers to listen. Hell, he even shares his favorite snacks with the guy, but he’s also the one giving Mammon a reality check. Some things he does deserve and as long as everyone’s on the same page and actively working toward a better future, Beel doesn’t see any problems

Belphegor: 

Like mentioned before, him and Satan are most likely to continue the mocking and teasing long after the guy breaks down. In all honesty, Belphie feels little to no remorse at first and, if anything, thinks Mammon has no damn spine to be reacting that way. He’s also most likely to be the one that says “if Mammon wasn’t so stupid to begin with….” and it’s not until Beel gives him a scolding that he realizes what he said is unacceptable. He doesn’t even hate Mammon. He hates Mammon’s constant lying and idiocy. Much like Lucifer, he can’t bring himself to verbalize this apology, though, and he instead just tries to forget it while also doing small acts of kindness for the demon. By small he means he transferred some money onto Goldie. You’re welcome. 

[luminnara]

I wonder what Dick would be like trying to flirt on the lead up if the mission, trying to be smooth and cool before screaming next to Weasel. The back track of trying to be cool again after than freak out would be glorious and I would probably fall for it, lol

Dick Hertz x fem!reader

This ended up way longer than intended and I am not mad about that lol

Sfw but raunchy!

Requests for oneshots and HCs are open!

You were no stranger to the concept of the suicide squad.

Thanks to your own colorful past, and powers that you couldn’t always quite control at first, you were stuck serving out a long ass sentence at Belle Reve, the shittiest shit hole of them all. Your only escape from the mundane, high-security monotony was the occasional mission from Waller.

The Suicide Squad—more officially known as Task Force X—was the latest installment in Amanda Waller’s series of highly classified, top secret, black ops teams. She chose Belle Reve’s most infamous criminals, many of whom had extraordinary powers and even more extraordinary reputations, and tossed them together on incredibly dangerous missions. You knew she didn’t care whether you lived or died, but successfully completing such impossible tasks always cut time off your sentence, and with nothing else to do with your time, you always thought it was worth the risk.

And besides...you hadn’t died yet.

So when Waller approached you during your daily yard time, you already knew what to expect.

“Yeah, yeah.” You grumbled as you followed her into the exam room and plopped down in the same old chair. “I know the drill. I go off mission, you blow my brains out.”

“—with the explosive device implanted in the base of your skull. Correct.” Waller said, unimpressed.

“And what, you have to give me a fresh one?” You raised an eyebrow as the doctor made you lean forward. “Lose the button for the last one or something? Or are you afraid that just one won’t do the job?”

Waller looked even less impressed. “I suggest you put a lid on that attitude today.”

“Why?” You winced at the feeling of a thick needle pushing into the back of your neck. “Jesus, fuck! Seriously, how many little bombs do I need in my head?”

“Good luck, puppy.” The doctor sneered as you stood up to follow Waller back out into the corridor.

“This is a black ops mission.” She continued with her usual spiel. “Your commanding officer is Colonel Rick Flag.”

You gasped. “The Colonel Rick Flag?”

She turned to glance at you.

“I have no idea who that is.”

You could hear her sigh in exasperation. “Suit up and go outside to the transport. You’ll meet the rest of the team and fly out to Corto Maltese.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Yeah, the Suicide Squad was a nice distraction from your shitty everyday life...but putting your ass on the line for someone who didn’t give a shit whether you lived or died, and who was always hovering above the button that would splatter your brains all over the wall, wasn’t exactly the greatest feeling in the world.

Waller waited as you ducked into a room to change. There was a black box waiting for you, and upon opening it, you couldn’t help but grin at the sight of your old gear. The dark gray leather suit fit like a glove, and your gun had been cleaned and polished after your last mission, the painfully bright fluorescent lights reflecting off of the barrel with a gleam. You grabbed your gloves and strapped your ammo belts on before buckling a gray carbon fiber mask on.

Wearing your own stuff always lifted your spirits. It was the suit you’d been arrested in a few years ago back in Metropolis, and after seizing it, the feds had been nice enough to give it some upgrades with newer tech. Anything to make you a better government-sanctioned killing machine, you guessed, and it’s not like you were gonna turn it down. After all, killing was how you ended up in Belle Reve in the first place, and it was one of the only things you were good at...it just made sense for Waller to want to put your near-inhuman skills to good use.

You walked out to join her again, lugging a canvas bag of equipment and supplies along behind you.

“Pick that up and carry it correctly.” She snapped as the doors at the end of the hall opened.

“Why don’t you eat my—“

You interrupted yourself by groaning at the bright sunlight as it hit your eyes, raising a hand to shield your face as you managed to spot an armored truck waiting for you.

“You’ll have a lot of new teammates.” Waller called after you. “Be on your best behavior. I’m not responsible for anything they do to you.”

“Probably just a bunch of old farts like always!” You yelled back as you jumped up into the back of the vehicle.

Two guards sat down on either side of you as you got yourself settled in. There was another woman already waiting, her skin orange, her hair in a high ponytail that seemed to be pulled through the top of her helmet. She was regarding you with very little interest, and that was absolutely fine with you. You had a few friends within the Belle Reve prison complex, and you weren’t necessarily looking for more.

The ride was short and uneventful. You passed through a few gates that took forever to open, waited for a few security checks, the usual shit. When the truck came to a halt and you hopped out again, you were at a small airbase hosting a few hangars for planes and helicopters, one of the latter already sitting outside. Guards from Belle Reve were lining the circle of armored vehicles, and as yours joined them and the back doors were opened once more, you grimaced at the bright sunlight.

“Afraid of a little sun?” The orange woman laughed, baring her teeth at you.

“Hurts my eyes,” you mumbled, jumping down after her.

You landed on pavement, looking down at your feet in an attempt to avoid the oncoming headache you knew was imminent. When your shoulder rammed into someone, though, you had to look up anyway.

What you saw wasn’t exactly what you were expecting.

A good looking blond guy was looking down at you, a cocky grin on his face. “Whoa, didn’t realize we were getting a babe this time!”

You glared at him, grateful for the mask covering the lower half of your face.

He couldn’t see you blush that way.

“Little girl’s got some ammo, huh?” He reached for one of the belts strapped across your chest,

Your hand flew up to grab his wrist and you held him in a Vice-like grip, your glare more pointed now. “Touch me, and you can see some of it from behind your eyeballs.”

Blondie whistled lowly, relaxing his arm. “You’re tough, huh? I like that in a girl.”

You dropped his wrist and rolled your eyes. “Still gonna like it when I’m ripping your balls off?”

You could swear he was swooning on his feet. “Baby, you are a goddamn tease...”

“Oy, Dickhead!” An Australian voice rang out, “back off!”

His grin faltered for a moment, obvious disappointment flashing over his face. “Oh. Got a man already. Damn.”

“Who, Boomer?” You grinned, unclipping your mask as you turned to wave at one of your only friends. “Nah, I’d never fuck that wanker.”

“I heard that!” The gold-toothed Aussie yelled.

You let out a loud laugh as you looked back to blondie.

You were caught off guard by the actual, genuine look on his face. He was admiring your smile now that your mask was off, his eyes lingering on your lips for a fraction of a second longer than they should have. He was trying to be smooth, you could tell, and most people wouldn’t have noticed something so slight...but you were an assassin working your way through a couple life sentences, and you weren’t most people.

It all only lasted a moment before the cocky grin was back. “So, after this, you wanna come back to my cell, maybe we could, you know...” he waggled his eyebrows at you, making a hip thrusting motion you almost couldn’t believe a grown criminal was making.

“Maybe focus on not dying first, slim.” You patted his chest before turning towards Boomer, leaving blondie to stare after you—or more precisely, your ass—with a dramatic, longing look.

Your friend was regarding you with an amused expression. “Flirtin’ on the job? Didn’t think you had it in ya.”

“Shut up.” You punched his arm a little too hard and he winced. “Who is that guy, anyway?”

“Dick,” Boomer said, rubbing his arm.

“Don’t call me a dick—“

“No, dumbass, that’s his name. Richard Hertz.”

“...very funny, Boomer, but there’s no fucking way his parents named their kid Dick Hertz.”

Boomer shrugged. “Believe me or don’t, I don’t care. Either way, it’s the truth.”

You scoffed and stole a glance over at your new admirer. He was tall and pretty well built, platinum blond hair short, lips pulled back in a grin that showed off straight white teeth. He was dressed in all black, two guns holstered to his chest, and as he messed with a Belle Reve guard by pretending to reach for one, he looked like an overgrown child who should not have been allowed to hold onto firearms.

“Please tell me he’s got a cooler name,” you groaned.

“Why? So you can scream it at night?” Boomer cackled. “He goes by Blackguard. He’s pretty strong from what I hear. Prolly pretty fun in bed, too.”

You wrinkled your nose and rounded on Boomer. “Shut up.”

“You like him.” Your friend grinned. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. Just remember to name your kid after good ol’ Uncle Boomer.”

You gave him a rough shove and he stumbled back a few steps, laughing like a madman the entire time.

“Hey!” One of the guards barked at you.

Rather than pushing your luck with your armed babysitters, you huffed and crossed your arms over your chest. More cars were pulling up, dropping off the rest of your comrades, and while Boomer was distracted with them, you stole another glance at Dick.

He was still messing with the same guard, and was receiving some harsh warning glares in the process. Was he a complete idiot, or was he so cocky because he could actually handle it? He had to have ended up in Belle Reve for a reason. It wasn’t the type of place you went to for innocent misdemeanors. And if he was chosen for a Suicide Squad mission, that meant that his sentence was long enough to warrant risking his life to lessen it...and it also meant that he was useful.

When he winked at you, you realized with a start that he had totally noticed the way you were checking him out.

Fuck.

“Time to load up!” A voice yelled, saving you from any further embarrassment.

A few minutes later, you were strapping yourself into your seat on the chopper, pretending not to notice as Dick struggled with his seatbelt across from you. The guy sitting next to him had to help, and when you finally couldn’t help yourself, you let out a quiet laugh from behind your mask.

Dick’s head shot up to look at you, that cocky grin plastered to his face again.

“Wish you were over here helpin’ me,” he said bravely. “Rather have your hands down by my—“

“Dick.” Colonel Flag warned as he stood above you all with his gun in his hands.

Boomer let out a loud laugh at the unintentionally dirty euphemism and you snorted.

“What? Just makin’ some conversation,” Blackguard said, leaning towards you with a wolfish glint in his eyes. “You don’t mind, do ya, Princess?”

Your cheeks were heating up behind your mask, and he could see the way your eyes crinkled slightly with your smile.

God, he wished he could see your smile again.

“Hey guys, sorry I’m late!” A familiar voice said. “Had to go number two.”

“...Good to know.” Flag sighed as none other than Harley Quinn herself hopped in.

“Harley!” You called, reaching for her with grabby hands as she looked for her seat.

“Hey there, baby!” The pale blonde woman greeted, slamming her equipment bag into Savant’s head. “Hey, Boomer!”

“What’re you doin’ back in prison, Harls?” Boomer asked, hanging onto the nylon mesh cage behind him as he stretched his arms out.

“Got road rage. In a bank.” She finally found a spot between you and Javelin, and as Flag checked everyone over, the chopper took off into the air.

The lighting was dim and red, the thrumming of the helicopter blades blending in with the white noise of the pressurized cabin. Save for that, it was quiet for a while, everybody either sizing each other up, or, in Dick’s case, imagining how you looked under your suit.

“So, uh...how much longer you in for?” He asked you.

You raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because I don’t exactly think I should be talkin’ about sneakin’ into your cell while Flag is here to rat me out about it,” Dick grinned.

You caught the colonel rolling his eyes.

“Hey, that never stopped anybody,” Harley said brightly.

“Boutta be in a whole big ass jungle,” Boomer elbowed you in the side. “Plentya room in there to be alone.”

You groaned as Dick gave you a sly grin.

“Y’know, this mission’ll be over in no time.” He said, stretching his arms out behind his head. “I’ve got some wicked ass powers. I got this.”

“Oh yeah?” You asked, recognizing the way he was trying to peacock and impress you. “Not worried about anything?”

“Baby, I’ll carry this whole team. Just you watch.”

“I’m looking forward to it, Dick.” You bit his name out as more of an insult, but he didn’t seem to care, giving you another wink.

He obviously thought that his flirting and posturing was working...but you were pretty sure he was just annoying. Cute, but annoying. Maybe good for a hook up here or there...but that was about it.

“We’re in a butcher’s freezer, Harls!” Boomer called from the other end of the bench. “Surrounded by dead hogs hangin’ on hooks. Only they don’t know it yet.”

“Leave ‘em alone, Boomer!” She called back with a laugh.

You chuckled at your friends, leaning your head back as you settled in for the flight. Harley was complimenting Javelin’s accent, you still didn’t know what TDK stood for, and Boomer was just starting to mess with him about the fact that all names were made of letters when the freaky weasel-thing next to Dick stole everyone’s attention.

It was one of the strangest creatures you had ever seen. Human height, covered in mangy brown fur, with big bulging eyes and a mouth full of sharp little teeth all made it both fascinating and concerning to look at, and as it made a few disgustingly wet retching sounds, Dick nodded towards it.

“Yo, is this a dog?” He asked.

“...What?” You asked in disbelief. He had to be fucking with you, right? There was no way he meant it.

“Is this thing a dog?” He repeated.

“A...a dog?”

“Yes.”

“What...what kinda dog do you think it is, mate?” Boomer asked.

“I dunno, I’m not familiar with all the breeds.” Dick gave him an incredulous look.

“I’m gonna go with Afghan hound.” TDK said.

“Since when does an afghan hound have bloody thumbs?”

“Oh my god, is it a werewolf?” Harley asked excitedly. “I’ve wanted to meet a werewolf for ever!”

Dick was already up and struggling against his restraints. “Yo, they sat me next to a werewolf?!”

“That’s not right,” TDK agreed as his neighbor slammed into him in his desperate attempt at an escape.

Boomer was laughing loudly, and you couldn’t help but join in. “You’re seriously scared of werewolves?”

Dick glanced up at you as he tried to unbuckle his seatbelt. “Yes, I fuckin’ am! So fuckin’—get me out! I do not fuck with werewolves, there is no fuckin’ way—“

“Maybe you should hop onto your new girlfriend’s lap!” Boomer cackled, jabbing a finger towards you.

“Poor baby,” you cooed, and as you saw the look in Blackguard’s eyes, you were pretty convinced that he was about to try to tear his way out so that he actually could.

“Hey, hey, he’s not a werewolf!” Flag yelled over the commotion. “He’s a weasel, he’s harmless! I mean, he’s not harmless, he’s killed 27 children, but I—I think we got him to—I think he’s agreed to this, so relax.”

“Thought you were super tough?” You asked as Dick calmed down and caught his breath. “Gonna carry the whole team?”

Rather than the snarky flirtation you expected, he actually looked a bit defeated. When you raised an eyebrow, though, he took the prompt, and the most desperate backtracking you had ever seen began.

“Yeah, well...” he scoffed, trying to give you a cool look. “Caught me off guard, that’s all. No big deal.”

“Off guard? Isn’t guard, like, in your name?” You teased, your smile genuine behind your mask. Alright...he was winning you over now. He was an idiot, but...maybe he was a lovable one.

He faltered for a second. “I-I mean, yeah, well...”

Flag was shaking his head. “Get into position to drop!”

Everyone unbuckled themselves and collected their things, lining up to jump into the ocean off the coast of Corto Maltese. When you saw that Dick was back to struggling with it, again, you smiled to yourself and leaned down in front of him.

“For what it’s worth...” you said as you pulled up on the metal tab, your hand dangerously close to his crotch, “I wouldn’t mind shacking up somewhere in the jungle with you.”

He stated at you with wide eyes, disbelief written all over his face. He really was cuter when he wasn’t putting on such a dumb, cocky facade, and he jumped up as quickly as he could to follow you.

You just laughed as you straightened up and walked away, Blackguard right on your heels. As the door opened and the big, dark ocean came into view below you, you felt a hand brushing against your hip and a firm chest press up against your back. You realized you could have stayed right there forever, patiently waiting to see how far he was brave enough to go...but you were both members of the Suicide Squad, and you had a job to do.

“I’ll see you down there, Dick,” you said, turning your head slightly to glance at him.

“See you on the other side, baby,” he grinned.