#been working on some crossover things for the past week

[smilefullofcaligari]

So recently I've rewatched helluva boss with my sisters.

[thetalkingwave]

Nice- adjective; Pleasant, agreeable.

Kind- adjective; Generous, considerate.

Bonus:

[jaiwritez]

Okay sooooooo

DC X DP crossover

Phantom Pickpocket

The usual Danny’s parents are assholes when they find out he’s Phantom. He’s the ghost prince. Not yet crowned king. So has new powers but doesn’t know how to use them. However he can’t go into the ghost zone because portal was destroyed. Can’t go to Vlad because fruitloop.

Danny flees the scene away from his friends family. Ends up in Gotham, ectoplasm, yada yada. However instead of meeting up with Batman. He stays in crime alley with a couple of the stray kids. He becomes a particularly good pick pocket with the invisibility and intangibility. He only goes after people that wouldn’t notice a lil money missing from their wallets and never takes all of it.

He stays in an abandoned building and cares for the other kids. However one day one of the girls that lowkey reminded him of Ellie got really sick. She needed antibiotics. None of them had the money or access required. So Danny was stealing more often and saving up more money. Taking watches, sunglasses and whatever he could grab his hands on really.

He was walking back to their abandon building with soup when he sees a shiny brand new red motorcycle in an alley. He figured the whole thing would go for enough to get them a place to stay for a while but it was to big and high profile. So if he got caught it would be considered GTA and a felony. He couldn’t risk prison time and keeping a low profile was good for staying off his parents and the GIWs radar. So instead he just worked on taking the tires.

Unknown to him. He was being watched from the roof tops by a certain crime lord. Who’s been following a string of petty thefts for the past few weeks and has heard tales of the “phantom pickpocket” (heheheh). As well as some of the crime alley kids gathering in a new spot. He liked to keep tabs on them to make sure they were alright. So when he sees Bat adoption bait stealing his tires in less than two seconds flat and the pit lurches finally recognizing the cause of the intrusive feeling he’s felt for weeks. He drops down to the ground and walks over to the kid.

“Impressive honestly. I admire your work.” The Redhood. The smirk was almost audible as he relished in the familiarity of the situation.

Danny looked at the large figure before him. He’s heard tales of the Redhood. The protector of crime alley. Clearly some form of liminal as the whole area was clearly marked as his territory. So Danny had been doing his best to conceal his presence and his own ectoplasm under the crime lords to not be noticed. Which meant not transforming and using almost of his powers. Clearly he needed some practice. Danny was currently holding both tires and took one step back away from the beast.

“Relax kid. I just wanna know why you’re stealing the tires.” Redhood said.

“I need them.” Danny replied quickly and eyes his roots for escape.

“I doubt you have a bike kid. You’re probs gonna pawn or sell them. So what do you need the money for. I can get you some help-“Redhood said stepping closer and instantly regretting it because of the look of fear before the kid vanished.

Danny was short and skittish and immediately turned invisible and booked it. Phasing through the nearest building and proceeding to run back to his bases of operations. He dropped the tires off on a nearby roof top before making his way back. He cursed in silence because he forgot the soup.

“Life clearly has a sense of humor.” Jason mumbled as he turned on his comm.

“Hey O. I need some help tracking down my tires. I’m also gonna need some medical supplies. If you could get one of the birds to deliver it. I would appreciate it.” Jason said picking up the abandoned shopping bag that contained premade warm soup.

“Tires? That’s oddly specific…. What happened?” Oracle inquired but rapid typing could easily be heard as she started working on his request.

“A kid just stole my tires.”

He turned the comm down in preparation and wasn’t surprised to hear laughter erupt from Oracle. He sighed with a smile. As much as Bruce annoyed him. Clearly they were more alike than he thought. He was gonna find the little meta bandit.

(Comments are appreciated)

Part 1 , Part 2 ,

[rose-tea-and-strawberries]

Ok Ok since you listen to Epic the Musical hear me out-

What if Epic is a thing in Yuu's world? Like she's a huge fan and decided for a movie night she first introduces all the boys to it and eventually shows it to everyone at the House of Mouse,

There will be gasps, There will be tears shed, etc.

Everyone in the Hercules cast especially will be intrigued by seeing their own selves in a different light. But once they get to the thunder saga (and also gods games), Zeus is sweating bullets meanwhile hades is laughing his butt off from his brother's face,

But at the same time poor Hercules is like "....Dad???" as Meg and Yuu comfort him.

...also for the Vengeance saga everyone (NRC and HoM) especially the couples, Will def cheer after Odysseus says next to my wife.

Okay so first of all, if you want to read a fic where NRC reacts to Epic I highly recommend this because it is truly top tier:

I mean, for the past month I was thinking of a twst reacts to Epic fic (where Yuu acted in EPIC back in her world and the school/RSA reacted to it through some type of magic - it was kind of set in this universe where Yuu was a theatre actress before entering twst. I mentioned once that I had a theatre!Yuu that is friends with RSA and once played Christine Daaé back home. This is that AU) and then I just stumbled across this two days ago and my mind was literally blown! The saying that that there are no original experiences is really true!

Basically Yuu (who's female in this fic) is doing some extra credit work so she asks her friends to act in one of her favourite musicals and NRC reacts to this. Ace plays Ody and Deuce is Telemachus and Yuu plays practically every female character (I'm not going to spoil who plays the other characters). Also this has Aceyuu which is practically my OTP.

I'm also a huge fan of the Disney Princess React series where the Disney Princess, Princes and practically all the good characters from before their movies react to their future so I have been thinking of a Disney characters + Epic cast reacts to Epic fic.

Okay so according to Google, Hercules comes before the Odyssey so none of the Hercules cast would know anything about the Trojan War or Odysseus which would make this even cooler!

Hades: And you guys thought I was bad? Just look at my younger brothers!

Hercules: Dad! (īī ^ īī)

I've never watched the Hercules tv show except for that one crossover it did with Aladdin so I don't really know how the gods/goddesses are portrayed but I do know that the movie took a lot of ... creative liberty to say the least.

But can you imagine the cast of The Little Mermaid/Octavinelle reacting to Suffering/Different Beasts where the sirens come to kill the crew only to get slaughtered. Also, I have a feeling that Triton would be leaving his trident back home in the palace for the next few weeks.

But imagine every sailors' (e.g. Eric, the pirates, etc) reaction to Ruthlessness and the absolute carnage that follows. They'd be gripping onto the tables with white knuckles.

Hades would be having the time of his life (except for the parts where Yuu cheers for the other gods: read Hermes/Athena), especially during the Underworld saga. Like everyone would be looking at river styx in horror and he'd just be like 'ah home :)'. I bet he'd enjoy God Games as well. He'd definitely be munching on popcorn during Ody's and Athena's argument in My Goodbye.

The muses would be watching everything like WRITE THAT DOWN!

I don't think Hercules wants to talk to anyone at this moment :/

Thanks for the ask ‎♡

[astatia-ghast]

Re: The DPxDC Tagging Discourse

With the discourse over DPxDC tagging having gotten... pretty out of hand over the past week, I want to send out a request to the entire Danny Phantom fandom:

Please stop arguing about it for a bit. Give it three days -- three days to cool off, breathe, back up and reset your perspective. We're all too close to the problem right now, and because of that, we're getting mad and making things worse.

While we're all chilling out, I want to give us some things to consider.

To the #DPonly crowd:

This problem is not going to get better until you acknowledge that vitriol toward DPxDC fans is real. While your frustration may have come from a valid source, the anger and bashing you use to express it have only alienated this side of our fandom. They are part of our little fandom family, and we need to act like it. And that means listening to DPxDC fans' siren calls on this matter.

To the DPxDC crowd:

This problem is not going to get better until you acknowledge that, no matter how you feel about tagging culture, your refusal to stop tagging DPxDC works with #Danny Phantom is what led to all this. For two years, Danny Phantom fans have been sounding the alarm about how DPxDC content in the #Danny Phantom tag is causing people to burn out and leave the fandom (since it feels like our primary conversation space has been overrun), but you haven't been willing to change your behavior to help us recover. We need cooperation to fix this problem, and cooperation inevitably means compromise -- which may mean a tagging system that is not your personal ideal. Not tagging DPxDC works with #Danny Phantom doesn't mean that you are somehow less or unwanted; it just means that people who aren't interested in the crossover need their own space to chat.

Obviously, not everyone in the #DPonly crowd has been rude toward DPxDC fans, and not all DPxDC fans have been uncooperative on the tagging problem. Actually, I would dare say that most of us have been very reasonable. But the unreasonable among us are very loud, and they're stirring up the pot for everyone. And we all know someone who has said some choice words -- and that person may be you.

Take a moment. Reflect on your part in all of this. It's okay to make mistakes. I've made mistakes too, and this post is my way of undoing them. Just come back after a few days' break ready to solve the problem, and we're good. It's gonna be okay, I promise.

And, speaking of the solution -- while it's not my personal ideal, I think the #DPonly tag is the best solution we have so far. It has the greatest chance to make the most people happy. I'm going to keep supporting it and interacting with it, and I hope others will too.

Thanks for listening to my thoughts on this matter! If I sounded spiteful at any point, I promise it's not that; I'm just a direct speaker.

Signed,

A concerned Phandom member

[indigosunsetao3]

Call of Duty/Don't Worry Darling Crossover

I don't need any more fics or fic ideas. I don't. But. Here's this thing I just wrote up this evening.

Please mind the warnings. I tried to make sure I covered everything, even if it was a brief mention or just implied.

MDNI | Gender Neutral Reader Drugging , abuse, brainwashing, kidnapping, manipulation, pregnancy (not reader), self-harm (stabbing, not reader), suicide (briefly implied, not reader), death (not reader), postpartum depression (briefly implied, not reader), sexual situations

The town, seemingly in the middle of the wilderness, doesn't take long to fill up with other families moving in. You and Simon are some of the first residents, but it's not long before the block is full. Men and women raising their families day in and out in this perfect little slice of life.

All the working spouses leave each morning, some returning that night, others in a few days. The biggest employer in town is a top-secret technology company, and many workers are traveling salesmen or researchers. Leaving for days on end is not unusual, especially for your husband and his close colleagues.

But you are perfectly content with your arrangement. Being the spouse of one of the VPs of the company had its perks. The second biggest lot on the block, your very own inground pool in the backyard, and even your own car. Though you know you have to stay within city limits, of course, the wilderness around is unforgiving, and should you run out of gas with your small tank, you'd be stranded. Not that you'd ever want to leave; your life is wonderful. Every day is almost exactly the same, but they are no less enjoyable.

But then one of the spouses starts acting odd.

They say it's postpartum depression, that she needs to go to a specialized hospital and perhaps get some fresh air by the sea. It'll be a few weeks before she's home, and you feel so horrendous for Johnny as they load his wife up in the back of the ambulance. It's quite the scene; she kicks and screams the whole way, tearing at the poor worker's eyes as they try to restrain her. It's not until they dose her with some sort of relaxant that she finally hushes, and Johnny joins her in the back with their six month old and leaves.

You shush the town gossip any time anyone brings it up, speculating and making all sorts of rumors. Johnny is so close with your husband, and you can tell it's eating at the both of them. Multiple times, you catch Simon watching you closely, as if he's afraid whatever Johnny's wife has is contagious. Of course, it isn't. Postpartum is not contagious, and you don't have any children anyway...let alone didn't give birth a few months ago.

Then, Kyle's sweet husband takes a swan dive off their roof. The fall isn't high, but the angle of his neck and lack of breath tell you he did not survive.

It's horrendous, and you do nothing but cry in your bedroom as your husband and his friends confer in the living room. You knew Kyle's husband, and you had him over all the time for afternoon drinks and to sun by the pool. He seemed fine, perhaps a little vacant as of late, but the men had been gone almost two weeks this past time, and you understood the loneliness.

Simon starts to be home more now. His presence is almost constant in the house, no matter how much you try to shoo him out. Tell him to go hang with the guys and leave you to the house chores. He works so hard all the time that he deserves some relaxation. But he doesn't. He's always looming and asking such odd questions. Do you remember how we met? Did Kyle's husband say anything to you about what he did before they moved in? Love, how long has it been since we moved here? Johnny's bird hasn't been 'round, right? You know she's supposed to be staying home and recuperating.

But after a few weeks, everything seems to be going back to normal. That is until John's wife takes out a steak knife at a company dinner and drives it through her hand. She does it so calmly, methodically, that she barely flinches as she pins her hand to the wood beneath it. It's not until John scoops her up over his shoulder, her bloody hand slapping at his crisp white shirt, that she finally starts screaming.

Wake up.

Simon is quick to usher you out, almost bowling over Kyle and Johnny in his haste to get you home. You stay quiet the whole car ride and only dare to say anything at all when you are in the safety of your home.

"Is there something in the water?" You mumble to Simon as he pours you a stiff drink.

"No love," he answers as he mixes a drink at the bar and puts the small glass into your hand. "Nothing in the water, people are just stressed is all."

"But all your friends-" you start as you see the flare of headlights from Kyle pulling into his house next door. The bright flash illuminates your living room wall full of pictures, and you gasp a bit as something in your mind shifts. It's brief, a flash just like Kyle's headlights, but it's there.

And something about where you are standing feels wrong. Everything feels wrong, actually. Your clothes, your hair, the band on your left finger, and this house, this town. You don't live in this town, in this house.

You live in the city, in a shitty little one bedroom apartment with your cat and half dead plants. And Simon...Simon is your weird neighbor. The one that always stared a little too long, that had lingered around the shared outdoor space whenever you were out there. That tried talking to you once by kicking his foot in your door and had freaked you out enough that you bought a second chain for it.

The hairs on your arm stand up as something primal inside you screams to run. John's wife's words echo in your head 'wake up'. This has to be a dream, all of this an odd dream, and you just need to figure out how to wake up. Perhaps smashing this glass on your head would work. Or a fall, like Kyle's husband; you always jolt awake when you fall in your dreams, right?

"Drink," Simon insists as you look at him from over the glass. "You'll feel better in a moment." He nods with a small grin, and you hesitate to raise the glass to your lips, glancing down at the amber liquid.

"Drink it," Simon says a bit harshly as he crosses over to you, the pretense of calm concern gone. "Now."

"I don't, I think I'll," you start throwing around wild ideas of what to do.

Run, the voice screams.

And you move to bolt for it, but Simon catches you, grabbing you around the middle and forcing your head back. You thrash and scream, but he's strong, so strong, and his thick fingers push into your mouth, forcing you to swallow something. You sputter and cough, drooling as he pulls them out and wipes them on your clothes.

"Drinking it would have been easier," he says gruffly, his voice not sounding like the sweet one you knew. It was hard, angry, and less polished. "Time for a lie down. Next time you wake up, you'll feel right as rain."

And he's right.

The next time you wake up, you feel perfectly normal again. You've been in hospital for a while; you had a bad case of exhaustion. After all that sleeping, days of it apparently, you realize just how tired you have been. A nice respite away from it all had done the trick, though the headache still lingers.

When you get home, the neighbors are all waiting for your arrival. A little 'welcome home' banner on the garage and a party by your beloved pool with some of your closest friends.

"Isn't it so nice that Johnny's wife is pregnant with their first child!" You exclaim to Kyle's husband as he helps with clean up after almost everyone has left for the evening.

"Oh yes," he answers, grinning a bit at you. "I know they've been trying for ages. I hear them almost every night," he jokes conspiratorially. "Maybe I'll actually get some sleep."

"Kyle never lets you sleep," you tease as you toss a few more dishes in the sink.

"You aren't wrong," he answers. "That's why I come over here and nap by your pool."

"You may want to sanitize those before you lounge," John's wife chimes in as she carries in a tray of empty drinks. "Simon has them out there in all sorts of positions when he gets the chance," she teases as she hands you a glass.

Then you see it. It's like a ripple, a waver. But the small white scar on the back of her hand holding the tumbler changes to a deep stabbing gash that oozes blood, and her echoing screams meet your ears. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.

When you hesitate to take the glass, eyes flicking to hers, she is staring at you, a bit confused at your pause. She doesn't remember it, any of it. Doesn't remember calmly stabbing herself and the chaos that erupted at the table afterward. Judging by the way Kyle's husband watches you, he doesn't either. Well, no, he wouldn't because he was already dead. That memory sluices through you like ice, and you have to bite your tongue to keep from gasping.

You take the glass, laughing off your hesitation by playing up the shakes you've had since you started your new anxiety medicine. But inside, you are screaming, panicking, afraid you're losing your mind. Johnny's very pregnant wife walks past the backdoor, and you bite back the bile in your throat as you handwash the rest of the dirty dishes. This is not their first child. This is their second. So what happened to their first baby? And why is everyone lying?

Everything inside of you is telling you to run as Simon curls up behind you in bed that night. And as his hands shift to tug up your oversized shirt while he whispers how much he's missed you since you've been gone, you hide your flinch. You can't let him know you know, not this time. You need to figure out just what is going on and how to get out. And maybe convince the other spouses to leave with you before everything happens.

Again.

[cricket-reader]

If Our Love Is Tragedy, Why Are You My Remedy? {Part 1}

Masterlist | A03 | Wattpad | Recommendations | Inbox | Taglist

summary: The Behavioural Analysis team gets called down to Arkansas to investigate a series of strange murders. Couples are found with several different methods of death, ranging from stabbing to hanging. Only one thing ties them together: their relationship. What happens when their resident genius and the new team member get ensnared in the unsub's web? Will the team be able to save them before it's too late, or are they doomed to suffer the same fate as the victims that came before them?

warnings: mutual non-con, death threats, canon-typical violence, murder, past child abuse, insecurity on both ends, guilt, gunshot wound, kidnapping | 18+ MDNI

word count: 9,571

A/N: prompt fill for day 3 @juneofdoom | "No one will find you" | Kidnapping

{Read on A03} | Part 2

Elle Greenaway’s departure from the Behavioural Analysis Unit and its circumstances shook the team in ways none dared to speak aloud. Each carried the weight differently, but none bore it more heavily than Aaron Hotchner and Spencer Reid, who both felt as if they played an instrumental role in their former colleague’s downfall.

Hotch buried his guilt in silence, a constant tension pulling at the corners of his carefully constructed stoic demeanour. Reid, on the other hand, dissected it through endless questions—quiet, relentless probes into what they could have done differently. Neither found solace, for there was none to find. Looming over them was the lingering thought that if they had done more, Elle might not have spiralled so fast and so far, like a supernova collapsing into a black hole.

Hotchner shouldn’t have been surprised when, not long after, there were files for new recruits piling up on his desk. They sat there like a reminder of his failures and a testament that each of them was replaceable in the eyes of the higher-ups, as if Elle’s departure hadn’t shaken the team to their core. They were expected to move on as if nothing had happened. As was customary in the FBI.

He stared at the files for what felt like hours, each name and resume blending into the next. None of them seemed like a good fit. None of them were Elle.

A knock on the door distracted him from his fruitless search for a new agent. He glanced up to see a young woman standing in his doorway, her hands clutched her crossover bag tightly, eyes taking in the space before her. They settled on him after her quick perusal of the room, her posture stiff and eyes flickering with uncertainty.

“Can I help you?” Aaron asked, not unpolitely.

Clearing her throat, the woman offered a bright smile. “Hello, uh, I’m Agent Willow Barrett.”

Raising a brow, he waited for her to continue. She took his nonverbal response in stride despite the anxiety that threatened to choke her next words down her throat. “Your new recruit? I just got transferred.”

“I didn’t accept any transfers,” he said, setting down the file in his hands. “There must have been a mistake, I’m sorry.”

“Strauss sent me down here this morning. She said that I could get to work today.”

Hotchner could feel his frustration bubbling under the surface. Of course, Strauss was behind this. Not even a week had passed, and she was already shoving off some new agent to him. Taking a moment to study the woman before him, he couldn’t help but wish Strauss had sent him anyone else. This woman was too young, too eager and far too bright for the shadows that consumed each member of this team. He didn’t want to have to watch another young agent get consumed by this job.

“Of course,” he said, in place of the hundreds of things he wished he could say. “I’ll show you to your desk.”

Introductions were made as Willow made her way to the recently vacated desk. Each member did their best to hide their lack of enthusiasm; Hotchner just hoped the new agent wasn’t expecting to be too enthusiastically received. The wounds were too fresh—too sore to be introducing a new person. But Hotcher knew better than most that this was one of those things that you didn’t fight.

Despite the team's obvious reluctance to replace Elle, they couldn’t help but let Willow into their circle. She easily made friends with Garcia after their shared enthusiasm for various movie stars (particularly Ryan Gosling and James Marsden). Derek and she traded banter like old friends, skirting the edge of HR’s radar with their constant flirting. Not only did she listen to Spencer’s random info dumps, but she actively sought them out, asking random questions when bored at her desk. JJ and her found they had similar music tastes, often taking to sharing an iPod during a long flight back to D.C. She proved herself time and time again on missions with high stakes, winning the good graces of both Hotchner and Gideon who admired her competence and quick thinking.

She found a place in the Behavioural Analysis Unit, somewhere she felt like she belonged. The team quickly became a second family to her, late nights and long shifts, ensuring they’d grow close in no time at all.

—

“Willow Barrett, you’ve done it again.” Derek grinned up at her, lemon buttercream frosting painted on his nose. Garcia laughed at him, wiping it off with her thumb and taking the frosting for herself. Derek winked at her, a smirk plastered across his face.

“Seriously, Willow,” JJ dropped her cupcake liner into the trash, “if you ever decide to leave the FBI, you need to get your own bakery.”

“Trying to get rid of me, Agent Jareau?” Willow asked, smirking over at her friend.

She placed a hand on her chest, appalled. “And lose my free supply of the greatest baked goods known to man? Uh, no thanks.”

“I’m glad to know that my baking is the only thing keeping me on this team,” she deadpanned.

“Ooh, you made cupcakes?” Spencer walked into the room, lighting up at the sight of the confections placed on Willow’s desk. His eyes lingered on her for a moment longer than necessary, a small smile tugging on his lips as he took a cupcake. “Thanks!”

Willow smiled at him, enjoying the way his expression always managed to light up at the sight of her treats. “Gotta earn my keep somehow,” she winked at JJ.

“Where do you find all the time to make stuff anyhow?” Penelope crossed her arms with a pensive look on her face. “We just got back from the case last night!”

“A baker never reveals her secrets,” she said conspiratorially.

“That’s a magician,” Spencer pointed out, wiping the frosting from his own nose.

“Same difference.”

“Well, her treats are pretty magical,” Garcia conceded, stealing another cupcake from the batch.

Derek went for another one, but got his hand slapped away by Willow. “Leave some for Hotch and Gideon!”

“Why does Garcia get two?” He crossed his arms like a child.

“Because, she’s my favourite.”

“What? Nuh uh, we both know that I’m the favourite. Come on, sweetness, just one more?”

Garcia laughed at Morgan. “Oh, my sweet chocolate thunder, you just don’t have what it takes to win over Agent Barrett. She has fallen for my charms. She’s completely head over heels, isn’t that right, my darling honey bee?”

Derek gasped dramatically. “You both have been going behind my back? Ouch.”

“Nothing personal, Derek,” Willow said, sympathy coating her honeyed words. “Garcia is just the better flirt.”

A collective round of oohs sounded through the bullpen.

“That hurts, you know.” Derek pouted. “I really thought we had something here.”

“Don’t worry, sugarplum.” Willow booped his nose. “You’ll always be my second favourite flirt on the team.”

Reid watched the interaction, his lips turning upward at the familiar repartee. His eyes filled with an admiration that didn’t escape the notice of Morgan, who turned to look at him with a knowing, shit-eating grin.

“Team, briefing room, now.” Hotch interrupted the light-hearted banter, not a second wasted in greeting the team. He stormed past them with barely a glance their way, Gideon on his tail. The team shared a look.

“We just got back,” Derek said, brows furrowed.

“Whatever it is, it must be urgent,” JJ frowned. Willow grabbed two cupcakes before joining the rest of the team in their journey to the briefing room.

“Here, I made these last night,” Willow said, offering the cupcakes to the older men. Catching Gideon’s eyes, her stomach twisted at the gleam in his eyes. Each time she offered baked goods to the team, she couldn’t help but feel like Gideon knew. He knew of the shadows that clung to her, that seeped into her cracks and destabalised the very foundation of her carefully curated persona.

“Well, whilst you were busy making cupcakes,” Hotch began, using the remote to pull up the crime scene photos, “someone else was busy murdering Christine Matthews and Hayden Chambers.”

Grimacing, Willow took her seat and grabbed a file.

“Over the past four months, fourteen bodies have been found in Arkansas, Louisiana and Mississippi,” Hotchner said.

“Why are we just hearing about this now?” JJ questioned, not having seen a case this large pop up in her stack of cases.

Hotchner sighed. “Until now, they haven’t been able to connect these murders to the other cases because they didn’t have the same MO, and the dump sites were scattered.

“I was called this morning because the police chief in Monroe County pieced together one thing that tied them all together. Each dump site had both a male and a female victim. Whilst the ways they were killed differed, further investigation proved that both victims engaged in sexual intercourse before being killed.”

“And they didn’t find the connection sooner?” Morgan questioned.

“Most didn’t even bother to check; the ones that did only found evidence that the female was penetrated. There was no evidence that the male victim did it,” Hotchner explained.

“So there was no DNA evidence that the male victim had sex with her in the cases before?” Willow frowned as she looked at the pictures.

“He never finished?” JJ ventured.

“It is possible to get DNA even if the man didn’t.” Spencer shook his head. “It might be a little more difficult, but it is definitely possible.”

“The man used protection, which is why there was no evidence of his involvement. It wasn’t until the last murder that they noticed the man had trace amounts of semen left on himself,” Hotchner said.

“So our unsub is killing people for having sex?” Willow questioned, raising a brow at the various crime scenes. “Why would they… this doesn’t make sense… I mean, going from poison to stabbing to hanging? Why?”

Spencer piped in, “Not to mention that Christine was hanged while Hayden was stabbed with a sword. They were both killed at roughly the same time. Why would the unsub change his method so drastically?”

“And with a sword? What kind of person owns an actual sword?” JJ questioned, disbelief coating her words.

“That’s a question to ponder for the plane ride. Wheels up in thirty.”

—

The ride there wasn’t long enough for the team to even begin to come up with a solid working theory as to why this unsub was changing his MO so often. The only working theory they had thus far was that the couples had sex before being murdered which could tell them that the unsub was against premarital relations or relations existing outside of marriage; a few of them were married to other people; most of them were single, living alone, however, which did help them throw away the theory that the unsub was killing adulterers. The victims were all in their 20s to 30s, each holding such vastly different jobs and were of different social classes.

“Reid, Barrett, I need you to talk to the most recent families. Try to find connections between the victims. Morgan, Gideon, I want you guys to go to the latest crime scene. I’ll set up at the precinct with JJ.” Hotch said once they had exhausted all possibilities with what they had on hand thus far. Everyone nodded in assent before dispersing.

The plane hummed with light conversation after their secondary discussion of the case came to a conclusion. Each person was busy looking at files, talking about the case, or preparing themselves mentally for the challenge that their job always presented. Reid usually spent the time in between the discussion and arrival jotting down notes or reading the files dozens of times. This time, however, Reid seemed distracted, fidgeting in his seat and looking out of the window.

Morgan approached him, leaning over the table to talk to him. “Reid, you okay?”

Reid snapped back to attention before he flashed him a distracted smile. “Yeah, just… just thinking.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow, not buying it. “About the case?”

Reid hesitated, glancing over at Willow, who was sitting on the other side of the plane with JJ. His face softened when he saw her laughing at something JJ had said to her. He quickly darted his eyes back to Morgan. “Yeah, uh, yeah, just the case.”

Morgan gave him an unimpressed look as his eyes flickered back over to Willow. “Come on, man,” he sighed, exasperated, “You’ve been giving her lovey-dovey puppy dog eyes for weeks now.”

Reid tensed in his seat, gaze darting to Willow as if to make sure he didn’t hear Morgan’s words. “What? What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about how every time she is in the room, your eyes always glance over at her. I’m talking about how your focus is always on her, whether or not you realise it. Come on, Reid. It doesn’t take a profiler to figure that out.”

Reid flushed slightly, crossing his arms defensively. “No, I’m just–I just admire her as a good agent. She’s really good at her job; it’s admirable, that’s all.”

Morgan chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s all? I’ve been a profiler for how long now? You really think you would be able to hide it from me? I know a crush when I see one.”

Reid shook his head. “It’s not like that. We’re just friends, nothing more.” He looked over at Willow, a pained expression on his face as he murmured, “I… I can’t ruin that.”

Morgan’s expression softened as he looked at the kid. “I get it, Reid, really. You’re worried about messing up what you have. But you can’t keep pretending that you don’t have feelings for her. You’re not fooling anyone. It’s only a matter of time before she finds out for herself. If she hasn’t already.”

“You think she knows?” he frantically questioned.

“Probably not, I’d say she’s pretty oblivious when it comes to that. But, as a profiler, it’s only a matter of time before she starts drawing her own conclusions.”

Reid sighed, sinking down in his chair. Morgan glanced over at Willow and JJ, both engrossed with something on JJ’s phone. He smiled at the sight. “Listen, Reid. You don’t have to do anything right away. Just don’t ignore your feelings, okay? You deserve to be happy, and I can see that she makes you happy. If you like her, you should let her know, ask her on a date. No pressure, just… don’t let her go. She’s one of the good ones.”

—

“So,” JJ turned off her phone, turning in her seat to fully face Willow, “how are things with Spence?”

Willow furrows her brows, glancing over at Spencer, who is talking with Derek. “Uh… they’re fine? Why do you ask?”

JJ smiles at her, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “I see the way you look at him. Come on, Wills, admit it. You have a thing for him!”

“No, I don’t,” Willow vehemently protests, her cheeks taking on a deep red flush. JJ raises a brow at the agent, unimpressed.

“Right… and the blush on your cheeks has nothing to do with the fact that I’m right.”

“I don’t like him like that. He’s just… he’s like the nicest guy I’ve ever really gotten to know. He’s just a friend.”

“Mhm,” JJ hums, a soft smile on her face. “Y’know, if you were to ask him out, he’d probably say yes.”

“I am not going to do that.” She shifts in her seat, glancing over to see Spencer laughing with Derek. She couldn’t do that to him. Not only would it gain the attention of HR and risk one of their chances of staying with the BAU, but it would also ruin their relationship. Once he knew… once he knew, Spencer would want nothing to do with her. Once he knew, she’d lose his friendship; she’d lose his kindness. And even if he miraculously stayed with her despite the knowledge of her past, she’d only take him down with her.

Spencer Reid was too good for her; that much was obvious. He was smart, sweet and had this air of innocence that Willow knew she’d only taint with her blackened soul and bloodied hands. She may have erased that part of herself from existence, tried to leave it behind her when she turned seventeen, but the scars remained. Her trauma would only drain the light from Spencer. It wasn’t fair of her to expect him to put up with her baggage. He deserved someone who could love him wholly. Someone who wouldn’t love him in shattered pieces, edges sharp like broken glass.

And no matter how good Spencer was, she also couldn’t allow herself the chance to fall into the same trap her mother did when she was her age. There was no doubt in her mind that Spencer wasn’t the same as her father, but that did not erase the irrational fear that being with him would take away everything she’d worked for. That she’d end up like her mother; nothing more than a glorified live-in maid, meant to wait hand and foot on the man she so foolishly entrusted to love.

“Hey,” Jennifer nudged her, brows creased. “Where’d you go just now?”

Shaking her head, Willow locked away her fears, shoving them in the dark forbidden vault where they came from. She knew better. When she was at work, all thoughts of her past were to remain behind the vault. Anything seeping out could be used as ammunition against her. She would not allow her team to see how weak she used to be; she wouldn’t give them any reason to doubt her abilities on the job. She was strong now. She had built up her walls over the years, and nothing could get through her defences. “Sorry, just lost in thought.”

“Well, just think about it, okay? I think you two would make an adorable couple.” JJ winked at her before heading over to the coffee pot, leaving Willow to frantically shove her thoughts away until after the case when she was alone in the safety of her apartment.

—

The ride to the Chambers’ house was relatively quiet, both Reid and Barrett lost in their own thoughts. Barrett looked over to see Reid fidgeting with a pen, his eyes scanning the files that he must have checked over at least ten times on the ride alone. “Hotch has never sent me to visit victims’ families with you before. Usually, he lets Gideon take point on that front.”

Reid didn’t look up, his fingers still twirling the pen absently. “That’s because he’s better at connecting with people. He always knows what to say to grieving families. I assume he trusts you to be the empathetic one,” Reid huffed, shaking his head.

Willow’s breath caught in her throat at Reid’s words. He said it so nonchalantly, as if it were a fact. As if he truly believed that Hotchner trusted her with something. No matter how hard she’d tried, she didn’t feel like Hotch thought of her as a part of the team. He distanced himself from everyone, but to her, the most. If she’d had to guess, her superior barely tolerated her. But there Reid was, telling her that Hotch trusted her. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Spencer looked over at her. “I’m not the best with… well, social interactions. If you couldn’t tell. He wouldn’t send you unless he knew that you’d be able to pick up some of my slack. I mean, I can tell them the facts easily. I can analyse their home lives, no problem. But that isn’t what these families need. They need someone to… I don’t know… kind of like guide them through.”

She felt her cheeks warm at his inadvertent praise. She knew that she brought skills to the table that the others couldn’t—knew that she provided a new, unique perspective, but it was always good to hear it directly from one of her team members.

The house was a simple craftsman-style home. Flowers lined the veranda, well taken care of with a white picket fence surrounding the property. “You can take point on this one,” Spencer said, examining the surroundings.

“You got it,” Willow responded as they walked up to the house.

A woman wearing a bright yellow cardigan answered the door. Well-defined lines told stories of laughter and smiles. “Mrs. Chambers?”

“Yes? Who are you guys?”

“We’re FBI,” Willow said, pulling out her credentials. “I’m SSA Barrett, and this is Doctor Reid. We just have some questions about your son.”

“I already told the police everything I know,” the woman shook her head, tears gathering in her waterline.

“We just want to make sure that there’s nothing they missed. Anything you could tell us could get us one step closer to finding the person who did this,” Reid explained. “May we come in?”

“Oh, yes, certainly.” She gestured them into the living room. Papers were scattered on the coffee table, bills and condolence letters mostly. A small, nearby trash bin was halfway filled with used tissues.

She sniffled as she gathered the papers into a pile, trying to clean the space. “All these letters and it still doesn’t seem real… I… I was supposed to go first, y’know. A parent shouldn’t outlive their child.”

Willow grasped the woman’s trembling hands. “It’s truly terrible what happened to your son. There are no words to properly express my sorrow.”

Mrs. Chambers chuckled, something hollow and broken distorting the sound. “I suppose you do this a lot, huh?”

“It never gets any easier.” Willow moved the box of tissues closer to her. “We want to talk to you about the day your son went missing. Anything you tell us could help, no matter how inconsequential it seems.”

“Okay, what do you want to know?”

“What was he doing that night?”

“I sent him to the store,” her voice cracking, she wiped her eyes. “We were out of sugar, and I wanted to make some banana bread from the bananas that had gone bad.”

“This wasn’t your fault, Mrs. Chambers,” Willow reassured her.

She laughed wetly, shaking her head. “That’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

“Was there anything off about that night? Did he seem nervous or agitated?”

“No, not at all. He told me that he had a good day at work. He said his boss even hinted at a promotion.”

“Your son works at an insurance company, right?”

“Yeah, he was a customer service representative.”

“Okay, did he mention anything about anyone that was jealous of his success? Anyone who knew of the possible promotion? Do you know of anyone who would want to hurt your son?”

“No, no. He was a good kid. Everyone liked him. He uh… he liked to volunteer at the soup kitchens when he had the time.” Mrs. Chambers blotted the tears from her face. “Who would want to hurt my baby boy? He never did anything to anyone. He… he didn’t deserve this.”

Willow glanced over at Spencer as the older woman broke down, sobs shaking her body. Placing a hand on her arm, Willow consoled the weeping woman.

“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Chambers apologised, voice breaking.

“You don’t need to apologise, ma’am. I understand this is difficult. We just have a few more questions if you’re up for it.”

“Yeah… yeah, go ahead.”

“Was your son dating Christine Matthews?”

“No, no, he wasn’t seeing anyone. I would have known if he was.”

“Are you sure? He never brought her over or talked about her?” Spencer questioned.

“No, he spent most of his time studying. He only hung out with a few friends… Kyle and… I think Jeremy was the other guy’s name.”

“Okay, did anything seem off about them?”

“No, they were good kids too. Kyle worked and volunteered with him. Jeremy was a friend from school, they went way back.” Mrs. Chambers furrowed her brows then. “I just remembered something strange, though… It’s probably nothing.”

“What is it?” Spencer jumped in. “Anything could help.”

“Hayden did mention that he met this one guy at a bar last week. He said something about him seemed off, but he thought he was just some drunk.”

“Do you know what his name was?”

“No, Hayden never said.”

“Do you know what bar he was at?”

“I think it was The Green Lodge. Do you think it was that man? Did he… did he kill my boy?”

Willow handed her a tissue from the box on the end table. “We’re not sure yet, but we’ll look into it. Thank you for your help. You wouldn’t mind if we’d go look in his room, would you?”

“Why?”

“Just to see if there’s anything that could help us with the case,” Reid piped in, stopping his perusal of the pictures on the mantel.

“Sure, just, um, just be careful with his stuff, okay? It’s all I have… all I have of my baby.”

Willow placed a reassuring hand on Mrs. Chamber’s trembling hands. “Of course, ma’am.”

“Might I ask what happened to Hayden’s father?” Reid asked. “I noticed he’s present in earlier pictures, but he just kind of disappears as he gets older.”

“Oh, John, he uh, he left us a while back. Started getting real distant and angry. I told him that if he couldn’t be present for his son the way he needed to be, he could leave. He used to visit Hayden every once and a while, but then he just stopped. We didn’t really mind. All he ever caused for us were problems anyhow.”

“Do you know if he’s still around?”

“No idea, why?” She furrowed her brows. Gasping at the implication, she asked, “Do you think he has something to do with this?”

“It’s impossible to tell right now. We need to follow all potential leads,” Reid said. “It’s likely that he doesn’t have anything to do with it, but it’s possible that this could be what we were missing.”

“What he means is that we can’t rule out anyone just yet.”

—

“Did you find anything at the Chambers’s house?” Hotch asked over the phone as they drove to the next house.

“Apparently, he went to a bar last week, The Green Lounge, some man talked to him, and Hayden thought there was something off about him. He brushed him off as a drunkard. Everything in his room seemed normal. He also had an absent father, John Chambers, but I don’t think that has anything to do with the case.”

“I’ll get Garcia to check out the bar and the father. You guys keep searching.”

“Nothing on your guys’ end yet?” Willow questioned, raising her voice to be heard.

“Not yet, we’ll call if we get anything.”

Reid hung up the phone and went back to poring over the files.

“I don’t think the pictures are going to change, Reid,” Willow chuckled, glancing over at his furrowed brows and bitten lip.

“I feel like the answer is right in front of my face. I’m just not sure what it is yet.” Reid shook his head, slamming the file closed and rubbing his eyes.

“I know you’ll figure it out, Spence, you always do.” Willow set a reassuring hand on his knee, her bright smile lifting his spirits ever so slightly.

The Matthews’ house was nothing like the Chambers’ residence. The grass around the shotgun house was overgrown; the wooden railing on the porch looked one strong wind away from being blown off. A tall woman answered the door, a large hoodie hanging off her gaunt frame.

“Hello, I’m Special Agent Barrett, and this is Doctor Reid with the FBI.”

The woman huffed, alcohol wafting off her breath. Unshed tears made her reddened brown eyes shine under the yellow porch light. “What do you want? I already told the police all there is to know about my sister. I just want some damn peace and quiet.”

“We’re very sorry about your loss, we were just hoping-”

“I don’t give a damn what you were hoping! My baby sister is dead, and there’s no amount of talking that can fix that.”

The woman went to slam the door in their face, but Willow firmly interjected, “Maybe not, but we believe that the more information we have about your sister, the better we can find the person who did this and bring them to justice.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes as she headed back into her house, leaving the door open. Willow glanced over at Reid, questioning if they had gotten their invitation inside. Reid shrugged and followed the grieving sister into the living room.

“Hope you don’t mind the mess. My sister was always the clean freak.” She bitterly laughed. “She’d throw a fit if she saw the state I left the house in.”

“We need to know, was your sister seeing someone? Perhaps a man by the name of Hayden Chambers?”

Raising a brow, she said, “The police asked me the same damn thing, and I’ll tell you again. My sister was the most goody-two-shoes girl there was. There ain’t no way she was going behind my back and dating some good-for-nothing guy like Chambers.”

“You knew him?” Willow questioned. “Why didn’t you like him?”

“No, I didn’t know him, but if he wasn’t able to prevent the guy from hurting my sister–if he didn’t even try to protect her, how good can he be?”

“Ma’am–”

“Don’t call me that. That was my momma. I’m just Polly.”

“Okay, Polly,” Willow conceded, “Hayden was as much of a victim as your sister was.”

“Well, from what I know, he was big enough to fight off the guy who did this.”

“How do you know that?” Reid asked.

“The police showed me a picture of him,” she shrugged. “It was obvious he worked out or something.”

—

“Sister seemed a little suspicious,” Willow said as soon as they got into the car.

Reid sighed, “I agree, but I still don’t see why she would target the other people. She might have held resentment for her sister, but she didn’t have-” The ringing of his cell phone interrupted Spencer mid-sentence. “One sec.”

Willow glanced over to see Spencer’s eyes harden.

“I see. Okay, we’ll head over right away.”

“What happened?”

“There’s been another murder.”

“I guess it’s safe to say that we can rule out Polly as our unsub then,” Willow sighed.

—

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Chief Anderson said in lieu of a greeting. “Poisoned clothes? Where does the guy get this stuff?”

“Poisoned clothes?” Reid questioned, crouching down to the victims. A long green dress and headband adorn her body, each stitch meticulous and gorgeous.

“Yeah, the woman is wearing them. The man was holding her, so the poison got transferred to him as well.”

Reid furrowed his brows, muttering unintelligibly to himself.

“What is it, kid?” Morgan called out to him, seeing the way his mind was racing to come up with something.

“I need to get to the drawing board.” Reid stood up, racing back to the SUV. Willow looked at Hotch for confirmation before taking off after him. The team followed them back to the station, all confused as to what Reid could have possibly found out from that last crime scene.

—

“It didn’t hit me until now,” Reid began once everyone was in the conference room. He erased what was already on the whiteboard, writing down the methods of murder in a messy scrawl. “In the Greek tragedy, Medea, Glauce is killed by a poisoned coronet and gown, her father Creon embraced her as she died in excruciating pain, poisoning himself in the process. It was Medea’s revenge on Jason for betraying her-”

“What does that have to do with the other murders?” Hotch interrupted him before he could continue to rant about the play.

“Okay, right. Uh… Matthews and Chambers, stabbed with a sword and hanged. Although there are many tragedies that could be, I’m thinking Antigone. ‘…hanged by the neck in a fine linen noose, strangled in her veils’; instead of a rope, the unsub used linen, which is how Antigone hanged herself in the play. And here, with Amelia and Oliver, Romeo and Juliet, Amelia stabs herself with Romeo’s dagger, and Oliver poisons himself. The carving knife and rope hanging could be from Tess of the d'Urbervilles. Hallie was found with blood on her; her fingerprints were on the knife; she killed Ben. Thirty stab wounds and a fall to his death, La Celestina. Hamlet could be the poison and the poisoned blade.” Reid said, pointing at all the crime scenes as he spoke.

“What about the guy in the ground and the woman that hanged herself?” Derek asked.

“That could be from Oedipus Rex. Hear me out, Ken’s eyes were mutilated by a sharp object, just like Oedipus. Jacosta hangs herself over her bed just like how Emily was found.”

“Okay, but for those of us who don’t read tragedies, why was Ken also buried in a mound in the backyard?” Morgan questioned.

“Oedipus was said to have been swallowed by the earth to become the guardian hero of the land,” Willow chimed in. “What?” She grew defensive from all the strange looks shot her way. “Boy wonder isn’t the only one who likes to read.”

“Guys, our unsub is taking pages out of literary tragedies,” Reid said, bringing the focus back to the case.

“Okay, so our unsub is well-read,” Chief Anderson said. “How does that help us find him?”

“Seeing that Tess of the d'Urbervilles and La Celestina aren’t the most popular tragedies, we know that he isn’t just taking his knowledge from high school mandated readings.”

“This could mean that our unsub either studied literature or teaches it. It could also mean that our unsub spends a lot of time around books,” Gideon concluded.

“Okay, with Antigone, Hamlet, Romeo and Juliet, La Celestina, Medea, and Tess of the d'Urbervilles, the narratives all contain the themes of doomed love. It's definitely a pattern,” Reid added.

“Maybe the unsub sees these couples as representations of these themes. If our unsub is projecting onto them, he might feel justified in ending it before their relationships fall apart,” Gideon said.

“This would all certainly explain why his MO keeps shifting,” Hotch said, eyes furrowed as he took in all the new information. “He’s not killing based on a compulsion–he’s reenacting different tragic narratives.”

“All of these tragedies with the exception of Tess of the d’Urbervilles were plays—whilst technically La Celistina was a novel, given the dialogue form that Fernando de Rojas wrote it in, it’s often classified as a play due to its structure—which could mean that we’re looking for someone in the acting department. Think local theatres, college or high school theatres too,” Reid mentioned.

Hotch called up Garcia. “You’ve reached the all-knowledgeable Garcia. What can I do ya for?”

“I need you to come up with a list of all literature and drama professors, students and theatre groups. Any libraries as well. We’re probably looking at someone with a record. Maybe something related to stalking, given the sexual nature of these crimes. He’s likely in his late twenties or early thirties, given the ages of the victims.”

“On it, bossman,” Garcia said.

Willow leaned forward in her chair, eyes flickering over the multiple boards filled with writing and pictures. “But what triggered him? What made him start putting on these way too realistic plays? If we figure out what started the pattern, maybe we could find our unsub or at least where he’ll try to strike next?”

“In most tragedies, the catalyst is betrayal—real or perceived. If our unsub has experienced a betrayal in his own life, he might be projecting it onto the couples,” Reid suggested.

“Which could mean that his final victims will be the ones that wronged him,” Gideon said.

“Right!” Reid agreed. “So if we can find our trigger, we’ll find our unsub and his last victims.”

“Garcia, look for someone who was recently divorced or laid off. Anything our unsub could perceive as some kind of betrayal.”

“Barrett also made a good point earlier,” Hotch said. “Reid, Barrett, I want you to go to the first victim’s families and figure out what about them made our unsub snap.”

“Got it,” Willow said, jumping up from her seat to get ready. Reid followed behind her, stuffing the file into his bag as he jogged to catch up.

“You’ve read Oedipus Rex?” He asked once they were alone.

“Yeah,” she looked around before leaning in close to him, “don’t tell anyone, but I was a major theatre kid growing up.”

“No way!” Spencer shook his head, unable to believe her words.

“Way,” Willow giggled. “That’s our little secret, though.”

She winked at him before turning to get into the vehicle just in time to miss the faint blush that rose to Spencer’s cheeks. He supposed it would make sense for her to be a theatre kid. The way she was able to blend so seamlessly in every situation. Be it interrogations, comforting families, or even matching Morgan and Garcia’s banter. She effortlessly fit in wherever she went, a social chameleon of sorts.

Slipping into the car, he eyed Willow in a new light. She never shared much about her past. The fact that she was entrusting him with this part of herself felt significant. It felt like she had given him the key to discover more about the enigmatic masterpiece that was Willow Barrett.

“So,” he started, wanting to keep the conversation running, “theatre kid, huh? What was your big role?”

Willow grinned, one of her real smiles that never failed to sweep Spencer off his feet. “I had a few. My favourite, though, would have to be playing Lady Macbeth in high school. I absolutely nailed the ‘Out, damned spot!’ scene.

Spencer chuckled, trying to imagine a young Willow up on stage. “I can see that. You have the dramatic flair for it.”

“Thanks… I think?” Willow shot him a quick glance. “What about you, Reid? Ever been in the spotlight?”

“Me? Oh no, no. That’s uh, that’s not my scene. Public speaking for the FBI is bad enough.”

“Oh, come on, don’t tell me you’ve never recited a bit of Shakespeare. Not even for fun?”

“Well, I do have a soft spot for Hamlet.” Reid sheepishly admitted. “I used to uh… well, I used to put on plays when I was a kid… for my mom. I played all the characters, and it was pretty dumb-”

“Hey,” Willow broke him out of his self-deprecating spiral, “I think that’s pretty cute.”

“You do?” Reid inwardly cursed himself as his voice cracked.

“Yeah,” she sent a blinding smile his way. “Let me guess: ‘To be or not to be’?”

“Actually,” Spencer said, voice softening at the memory, “I prefer, ‘What a piece of work is man.’ It’s uh, it’s reflective.”

“Hmm… makes sense. That is a good one. Kinda sums up everything, right?”

“Yeah, exactly,” Spencer agreed, his tone almost reverent.

The car fell into a companionable silence as Willow continued on route to the first victim’s boyfriend’s house. Willow glanced back at him every once and a while, something on the tip of her tongue.

“Y’know,” she drawled after several minutes of silence. “I would’ve never guessed you’d be so into plays. I thought you were all about math and sciency stuff.”

Reid chuckled, “Sciency? I’m pretty sure that’s not a word.”

“Humour me, Doctor.”

“Well, why can’t I like both? My mom used to read to me when I was a kid, so I think that’s where my love for the classics came from.”

“Really? I didn’t know that about you.” Willow hadn’t heard him talk much about his parents at all if she was to be honest; she never brought it up either, not wanting to potentially press on a tender bruise. Willow knew all too well that not all parents deserved children.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t know you were a theatre kid in disguise,” Spencer countered, teasing grin on his face.

“I swear to god, if you tell the team about it, I will make your life hell.” She shoots him a quick glare, her anger betrayed only by a hint of mirth sparkling in her eyes.

“Good luck with that,” Reid smirked, “I’m pretty sure Garcia would maim anyone set on harming me.”

“Pfft, Garcia? I’ve got her in my pocket. She’s my sweet sugarplum fairy.”

“You guys and your nicknames,” Spencer cringed, a chuckle laced through his words.

“You love them, don’t you, my darling, my sweetheart, mi amor, mi corazón?” Willow teased him, knowing that anytime she called him a nickname, he’d get embarrassed. It was honestly adorable how easy he was to fluster.

Spencer groaned, but there was no hiding the smile tugging at the corner of his lips or the reddened tips of his ears. “You’re insufferable.”

“You love me,” Willow countered, deftly manoeuvring into a spot on the street next to the victim’s boyfriend’s house.

Spencer muttered something under his breath, but Willow was already out the door and en route to the door. He followed her up the unassuming driveway that led to a simple craftsman house. A man wearing a simple t-shirt answered the door, his eyes scrutinising the pair in front of him.

“Are you Nathan Brown?” Reid questioned.

“That depends,” he said, his voice heavily accented, “who’s asking?”

“I’m Doctor Reid, and this is SSA Barrett. We’re with the FBI. We have a few questions about your girlfriend, Daisy.”

The man took in a deep breath, closing his eyes. “FBI? I already talked to the police. Please leave me alone.”

“Please, we’ll only be a minute,” Willow pleaded.

The man opened his eyes back up, tears forming in his eyes as he looked at both of them intently. “Fine, just… let me get y’all some water or something. I wasn’t expecting company.”

“We’re fine,” Reid dismissed him as they entered the brightly decorated home. “We’ll only be a little bit.”

“No, no, I insist. My mama always taught me to be cordial to guests. Especially ladies such as yourself, Miss Barrett.”

Glancing at Reid, Willow said, “Well… thank you, I suppose.”

Nathan led them to the living room, gesturing to a floral printed couch, he said, “Have a seat. It used to be my mama’s. She wanted me to take it. Daisy always loved sitting there with her embroideries and books. You wouldn’t mind helping me with the glasses, though, would you, Doctor? I unfortunately don’t have three hands.” Nathan chuckled, sending a wink to the agents.

Reid looked over at Willow, who nodded her head in assent. Watching the two men head to the kitchen, she stood to look at the bookshelf. Furrowing her brows, she noticed that the picture frames were all face down. Picking one up, she saw a picture of Nathan and Daisy on a beach, smiling and having a picnic. The others were all of the couple on dates, happy and laughing. It made Willow’s heart ache, knowing that this happy couple couldn’t live out their full potential, knowing that they didn’t get the chance to get married, have kids, and grow old together.

She reached an empty space in the shelf, the dust was missing from a portion of it, as if something was there before, and had only recently been moved.

Frowning, she scanned the room for the missing picture. Her eyes almost passed right over it. Sitting on the floor, the deep brown frame sat face down. She walked over to the picture and squatted down to take a closer look. The glass was shattered and the frame cracked. Inside, the picture depicts Nathan getting down on one knee on a small, picturesque bridge as the sun sets behind them. Sighing, she placed it back where she found it.

They should be back by now, Willow couldn’t help but think to herself. Maybe Nathan broke down, and Spencer was trying his best to provide comfort. She should go check up on them.

Entering the kitchen, Willow opened her mouth to ask them what was taking so long, but before she could even get the first word out, they were stolen right from her throat. Her heart stopped in her chest at the sight of Reid, knocked out cold on the ground. Blood ran down his face, painting his pale skin a nasty crimson colour.

“Oh, god,” Willow muttered to herself, running over to him; she threw all of her training to the side at the horrific sight of her injured friend. She probably bruised her knees with the force she dropped down beside him, but she didn’t care. Reid was hurt. He was unconscious. She grabbed for her phone to call for backup, desperately hoping that Spencer could hold on just a little longer. Her quick perusal of his body didn’t show any other signs that he’d been injured, but who knew what Nathan could have done to him in the time she was busy checking out the pictures.

She didn’t even get the chance to enter Hotch’s speed dial number into the phone before the world before her faded to black, a throbbing pain sending her off into the abyss.

—

Willow groaned as she blinked up at an unfamiliar ceiling, mind fuzzy as her unconscious state slowly wore off. She panicked at the feeling of rope around her wrists and ankles, effectively ridding the fog from her mind. Her head whipped around, trying to take in as much of her surroundings as possible. Tears threatened to escape, the throbbing in her head increasing as her thoughts raced. Where was Spencer? Where was she? Was Spencer okay? Where was the team? Were they looking for them?

Pulling on her restraints, she tried to loosen the knots to no avail. Whoever did this, no, Nathan was very talented at tying knots. Huffing in frustration, she took in her surroundings once more. The walls were as bare as the room she was in. The only window was covered with a tarp of some sort, blocking her only way of telling how much time had elapsed since she and Spencer were taken.

The door opened, its hinges creaking with the slow movement. Heart racing, she tugged at her restraints in a final attempt to free herself before meeting her doom. She closed her eyes, hoping that someone would at least come for Reid before it was too late for him.

The door slammed shut, causing Willow to whimper as her eyes flew open to assess the threat. Spencer was standing in front of the door, Nathan by his side, with a gun pointed straight at her. Catching Reid’s gaze, she instantly noticed the red, watery eyes, streams of tears rolling down his face.

“Spence,” Willow called out to him, “it’s okay. I’m okay.”

A sob broke out from Spencer’s mouth, guttural and pained. Nathan smiled, shoulders shaking in silent laughter.

“They’re going to find us, and when they do-”

“No one will find you,” Nathan interrupted her, “Not in time anyway.”

“Let us go, Nathan. There’s no coming back from this. It doesn’t have to end this way.” Willow tugged on her restraints again.

“Shut up!” he screamed, causing Spencer to flinch. His eyes pleadingly bore into Willow’s soul, begging her to stop.

“Do it,” Nathan said, using his free hand to shove Spencer towards the bed.

“Please, I don’t… I can’t… please… don’t make me,” Spencer pleaded, eyes flicking between the woman lying supine on the bed and the man holding the gun at her head.

“I will blow her brains out if you don’t.” Nathan clicked the safety off the gun. “I swear to god I’ll do it!”

“Spencer?” Willow furrowed her brows. “What’s going on?”

“I-I can’t,” Spencer stammered, hands coming up to cover his face.

A gunshot echoed through the silence of the house, causing Spencer to scream out, “No!”

Right above the spot where Willow was bound, a bullet hole rested in the wall. A bullet hole that could have resided in her forehead. Images of blood pooling out and lifeless eyes staring up at him accusingly enter the forefront of his brain.

“Okay! Okay! Don’t-don’t hurt her, please, don’t, please.”

“Get on with it then!” Nathan screamed at him.

Spencer shuffled over to the bed, tears falling faster and faster. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Trembling, Willow watched as Spencer climbed onto the bed with her. “Spence?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t want to, please!” He cried, tears dripping down on Willow’s face.

Understanding dawned on Willow, crashing over her like an ice-cold wave of the Atlantic. Her eyes searched her colleague—no, her friend’s face that was etched in horror and disgust. A resignation settled in her watery eyes, gut churning as she sent what she hoped to be a reassuring smile his way.

“It’s okay, Spencer, it’s okay.”

He shook his head rapidly, whimpers crawling their way out of his mouth. “No, no, please, I’m sorry.”

The gunshot echoed through the room once more, Willow’s high-pitched scream following behind it as the bullet tore through the side of her leg. “You think I won’t fucking kill her? I swear to god I’ll do it!”

Spencer frantically placed his hands on the weeping wound, trying to staunch the blood loss as best he could. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, tears pouring down his face as he listened to her whimpers and groans. She gasped as the pressure on her leg sent waves of pain crashing over her.

Another shot reverberated the room, Spencer wailing out, “No! Please, stop, no! Don’t hurt her! Please! Kill me instead, please!”

Nathan only laughed. “You work as a behavioural analyst, right? What about my behaviour makes you think that I would do that? You guys must have studied my work. Tell me, Agent–sorry, Doctor Spencer Reid, what about my work suggests that I’d let you guys off easy?”

“You don’t understand. We’re not in a relationship! This-this doesn’t match your MO. We aren’t dating.”

“Who said anything about the others dating?” Nathan cocked his head, smirking.

“You wouldn’t kill us before you get what you want,” Reid declared, confident that this unsub would only kill them once Reid had done what he wanted him to do to Willow. The chances of them getting out of this alive hinged on the fact that this unsub needed them to complete the act; Nathan needed to have the complete fantasy. He wouldn’t be satisfied with killing Willow before Spencer had done what he wanted to her.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes.”

“Jeremy Cross and Patricia Underwood. Thomas Johnson and Amanda Walters. Patrick-”

“Why are you saying their names? Who are these people?” Reid asked, praying that every second he kept him talking bought more time for his team to find them.

“Those are the people who didn’t corporate.” Nathan shook his head. “Their deaths were nice and slow. First, the woman,” he points the gun at Willow before directing it to Spencer, “then the man.”

“I don’t believe you,” Spencer defiantly jutted his chin out, trying to ignore the growing pool of blood seeping into the mattress.

“I started by ripping off each of their fingernails. I burned off the tips of their fingers. I pulled out their teeth-”

“Stop,” Spencer snapped, his overactive mind creating a haunting visual of Willow being subjected to that kind of torture.

“I sliced their skin open; hundreds of small cuts left to bleed out. I spread them out so the process would be longer. Do you know how long it can take for someone to bleed out like that, Agent Reid? We can put it to the test.”

“Please, don’t hurt her. Please. She-she didn’t do anything,” Reid pleaded with his captor, hoping to prolong the inevitable.

“And I let the men watch everything. I make them see what they could have prevented. And it’s only when the woman is dead that I start with the man. But I don’t let them get off so easily. No. I make them ra-”

“I’ll do it!” Spencer cried out, anything to stop the man from continuing. He couldn’t continue to listen to it, knowing that any details would only help his mind create a macabre movie in his head.

He couldn’t quite ignore the whimper that left Willow’s mouth in response.

“I’ll do it, just… just please don’t hurt her. Please.”

“I promise you, her death will be practically painless.”

“What… what tragedy are we going to be?”

Nathan chuckles, “Did Romeo know his story was going to be a tragedy? Did Hamlet or Haemon know how they were doomed to die?”

“No, but we’re not the characters of a tragedy, Nathan.”

“From where I’m standing, it looks pretty tragic to me.”

—

“Reid isn’t picking up his phone,” Hotch interrupted the team, who were busy searching through the names of possible suspects.

“I’ll try him,” Morgan offered, flipping out his phone. His expression darkened when he was sent to voicemail. “Did anyone check in with Barrett?”

“I’m doing it right now,” JJ said, phone clutched to her ear.

“I’ll call Garcia, see if she can find anything on Mr. Brown.” Hotch left the room, his countenance giving away the tormented emotions rolling through him. The team sat on the edge of their seats as they waited for Willow to pick up the phone.

“She’s not answering either,” JJ announced, brows furrowing as she tried again.

“She’s not going to pick up,” Hotch declared as he marched back into the room, “Garcia, tell them what you found.”

“Okay, Nathan Brown was a hit when he was in high school, auditioning for plays left and right. He got a bachelor’s degree in literature with a minor in theatre. He became an English teacher and directed some local plays. In October, he got engaged to Daisy Summers, the first woman to be poisoned.”

“Why would he kill his fiancée?” JJ asked.

“She was having sex with another man,” Gideon spoke up. “That’s our trigger.”

“Okay, but if that was his trigger, why was he going after single people? Wouldn’t he stick to couples that he found cheating?” Morgan questioned.

“Guys,” Penelope cut through their conversation, voice tight with urgency, “I’m looking into his job, it says here that he was fired after accusations of him forcing two of his actors to… to be intimate with each other got out. Parents found out and didn’t want him around their kids.”

“He’s not going after couples having sex,” Gideon concluded.

“He’s forcing the victims to have sex with each other,” Hotch finished his sentence, jaw tight and eyebrows drawn together. JJ’s wide eyes darted around the room. Morgan stood from his chair and stormed out of the room.

“Morgan!” Hotch called after him. Sending an apologetic look to the rest of the team, he jogged to catch up with his colleague.

“We need to get out there, Hotch. We need to find them,” Derek said, voice laced with desperation.

“I know, Morgan.”

“Then let's go!”

“Did you guys find the unsub?” Chief Anderson asked as he approached, having heard the commotion.

“Nathan Brown,” Hotch said. “We also have reason to believe he took two of our agents.”

“Oh god,” Anderson shook his head, “He’s… he killed his own fiancée?”

“And now he’s going to kill Reid and Barrett,” Morgan fumed.

Anderson placed a hand over his mouth, looking pale. “We need to move on this now, then. I’ll send all units to his place-”

“No,” Hotch interrupted firmly. “If we go in with sirens blazing, we’ll set him off. We cannot risk the lives of two federal agents like that.”

Morgan’s jaw clenched. “We can’t waste any time, Hotch! Those kids aren’t going to… we need to get them out of there now. He’s clearly unstable. Who knows what he’s doing to them?”

“And that’s exactly why we need to be careful. He’s unstable. If he knows we got him, he will kill both of them without hesitation. There is no talking a guy like this down.” Hotch glanced back at the team, who had been listening in on the conversation. “We need a soft approach. We can’t let him know that we’ve got him until it’s too late for him to pull the trigger.”

Anderson nodded. “Tell me what you need from us.”

—

Willow looked up at Spencer as he fumbled with his clothing. His eyes hadn’t been able to reach hers since he agreed to their captor’s demands. His body shook with sobs, muffled and quiet. She didn’t look down, didn’t allow herself to invade Spencer’s privacy in such a way. Everything else was being taken away from them, she would not take that away from him, too.

His hands trembled as he undid her button and zipper. He was murmuring something under his breath, repeating it over and over again. “Spence?” she whispered, “Look at me.”

He violently shook his head, a choked-off sob catching in his throat. He continues his words, this time loud enough for her to barely make out.

I’m sorry.

Her heart tore to shreds as he mumbled apologies over and over again. “No,” she muttered, low enough so Nathan didn’t get the pleasure of hearing their conversation. “You don’t apologise because there’s nothing to apologise for.”

Spencer shook his head, his doe brown eyes finally lifting to meet her. “I don’t want to.”

“I know,” she murmured, “I know. It’s okay, Spence. It’s okay.”

“No,” he whispered, trying to keep his crying quiet. “No, it’s not.”

“Get on with it!” Nathan screams, banging the gun against the wall. Both of them jump in fright at his sudden exclamation.

“I’m so sorry,” Reid whispers as he removes her pants to reveal her bare legs. “So sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she assured him, tears streaming down her cheeks. “They’ll find us. It’s gonna be okay.”

[bjyx-spelunkers]

Interesting interesting interesting. Forever amazed by how they coordinate their actions. And I don't just mean candies (that, we know they're great at). I mean, even the more official, serious kinda business, which I think is probably harder to coordinate (without some kind of crossover in their staff).

SO, we all know that WYB is now in Paris (for Haute Couture Week), finally emerging after a very extended period of silence

(LOOK AT THAT MUFFIN HAIR!!!!!! looking forward to wyb in pretty clothes XD XD XD)

But shortly before departing, he posted this on Weibo on 3 July 2025. Just two minutes after his parent company (Yue Hua) and lawyer posted the same letter:

To summarise, the letter is issued by Yue Hua saying that they will be pursuing WYB's right to protect his reputation and will be asking Weibo to disclose the identities of four users, in order to take legal action against defamation. Also, evidence collection is ongoing for one user "itasashou" and legal action will be taken thereafter.

[Translation for WYB's post: The Internet is not a lawless place. We feel deep indignation in the face of baseless, malicious defamation and slander against Mr. Wang Yibo! We firmly maintain the legitimate rights of Mr. Wang Yibo, and will not tolerate any infringements!]

Not the first time he's taken legal action against unlawful netizens. He's done this multiple times and has been successful.

Now, here comes the interesting bit:

11 hours prior, a Shanghai law firm posted this on behalf of XZ and XZ Studios:

[Translation: Official Weibo of Shanghai Jiuze Law Firm 20250703 Brief of XZ Studio Case]

To summarise, the letter says that the law firm will be undertaking evidence collection, rights protection and litigation against the Internet users listed below (10 in total) for repeated defamation and slander.

So, this is not only a case of XZ and WYB posting coincidental stuff back to back. This is a case of them asking their law firm and/or parent company to post about legal action essentially back to back (11 hours apart). Do you know how SLOWLY law firms work?? This timing was completely coordinated and agreed upon by FIVE parties.

Y13 and I speculated that this was to make sure NO ONE could claim that any one of their legal action was in retaliation to the other (this has happened in the past before when the law suits were released with a time gap). Not when it's coordinated like this.

Oh and if any turtles out there are starting to worry. heh...we went through the list of users being sued (only the weibo and rednote ones sorry), and all of them are solo fans. I repeat, all solo fans. NO turtles. NO turtles in the list.

And just to show this is not the only non-candy thing they've coordinated in the past. Here are some of their recent more political Weibo posts that don't get talked about much (I'll state what the political events are but not translate the posts coz it's pretty much standard Chinese spiel. But let me know if you're curious!)

6 July 2025, Seven-Seven Incident (Marco Polo Bridge incident), posted 39 mins apart.

3 April 2025, Qing Ming Festival (Tomb Sweeping Day), Celebrate Our Heroes, posted 8 mins apart.

(This one is more sensitive, it's about Taiwan but y'know they're both from China so...)

7 March 2025, Taiwan, posted 29 mins apart.

There's another Wen Chuan earthquake one on 12 May, but that one was about 10 hours apart. Not sure why the large gap, but maybe Zhan-ge forgot XDXD

ANYHOOO

Turtles continue clowning. We're somehow not being sued despite being the most prolific at spreading fake rumours

[spinarakiweek]

Prompts 4 Spinaraki Week 4

(Art credit and our tremendous thanks go to poodlewool!)

Hello, all! We're here at last with prompts and dates for the fourth Spinaraki Week! It will be held in the very last week of August, from Sunday the 25th to Saturday the 31st!

As with last time, you can find a text version of the prompts and the full rules beneath the cut below, but first, a few general upkeep notes!

Re: event week tags: Following previous patterns, the tags for the week will be #spinarakiweek, #spinarakiweek2024, #spinarakiweek4, and #spinarakiweeknsfw.

Re: spoiler tags: Going by the results of the poll we ran about spoilers we ran, the vast majority of respondents are up on current events/don't care about spoilers. However, there are a small number of people who are avoiding spoilers. In recognition of that breakdown, and the fact that the manga will be over by the time the event is held, we will not be asking participants to spoiler tag their work on their own blogs, but will make our best efforts to tag for manga spoilers (#bnha manga spoilers) as we reblog to the main blog.

We have no current plans to tag for anime spoilers, as none of the mods follow the anime particularly closely, but please do contact us if you would like us to tag for spoilers for the anime episodes that will be airing immediately around the event (barring any breaks in the airing schedule, these should be Episodes 15 and 16 of the current season, Episodes 153 and 154 overall).

Re: AU fills: We got a number of requests on the survey for AU-type prompts: mermaids, supernatural creatures, heroes, pro-gamers, and so on. While we've dabbled with fanfic tropes as prompts in past years, this year we wanted to keep things relatively open. Just as a reminder, though, we heartily welcome AU content, so anyone is welcome to do AUs at any time and for any prompt they can make fit for it! You could do Mermaid AU fills for every day of the week and we'll happily reblog it, so long as they fit some aspect of one of the prompts of the day. Please, go absolutely nuts!

Re: our tumblr subpages: Firstly, our rules are the same as always, and can be found in the Rules section at the top of the page if that's visible to you, or beneath the cut below if not. The (new!) Graphics section, as the name suggests, contains every previous graphic we've used in prior weeks; these or the Tagged Works section can be used to scope out prompts from past weeks if anyone would like some inspiration or ideas for our traditional Free Day or to incorporate with other prompts this week! If the subpages don't work for you, you can also go back through the mod post tag (as at the bottom of this post!) to find previous housekeeping posts, which should get you back to previous prompt lists and the likes relatively quickly.

That's it! Rules and text prompts below the jump! We can't wait to do this thing with you all!

Text Prompts

Sunday 25th: Dedication  ~  History  ~  Game Over

Monday 26th: Monster  ~  Enough  ~  Load

Tuesday 27th: Horror  ~  Horizon  ~  Inventory

Wednesday 28th: Cracks  ~  Dream  ~  Home

Thursday 29th: Last Words  ~  Climb  ~  Cut Scene

Friday 30th: Reputation  ~  Crossover  ~  Save

Saturday 31st: Write  ~  Inheritance  ~  Continue?  +  FREE DAY

Rules & Policies

1)  We will accept and reblog any fan-made work—fanfiction, fanart, meta, playlists, etc.—so long as it focuses primarily on Shigaraki and Spinner’s relationship and fits an appropriate daily prompt.  The work must be newly published for the week, though if you wish to also use it as a fill for some other concurrent event, you’re welcome to do so.           You can work with any of the daily prompts you like, singly or in combination.  We try to keep them fairly broad, so feel free to get as creative as you like!  We welcome any fill that satisfies some aspect of the chosen prompt(s). 

2)  We’re celebrating the relationship between Shigaraki and Spinner as it’s been, as it may be, and even as it could have been.  Shippy-fic or gen-fic, canon-compliant or AU, romantic or platonic or any complicated place in between; we’re good with all of it.  Polyshipping/OT3s are allowed, but the focus must remain on Shigaraki and Spinner.

3)  Regarding content, we’re not placing hard limits on what we’re accepting.  Shigaraki and Spinner are villains in a canon that goes to some shockingly dark places, so we consider exploration of that darkness fair game for fanwork.  Likewise, given that this is a week focused on a relationship, we welcome NSFW content.  We do, however, ask that all content be responsibly and appropriately tagged for any content you have reason to expect could be upsetting to others. 

4)  We’ll be checking the tags for spinarakiweek2024, spinarakiweek4, spinarakiweek, and spinarakiweeknsfw.  As stated above, please tag also for any work that requires content warnings.  We’re only operating on tumblr, so if your work is hosted elsewhere, feel free to post a link to it and use one of our tags, though if you do so, you may also wish to message us about it, given tumblr’s notorious grouchiness about off-platform links.           Feel free to message us if it seems like we’ve missed a fill of yours!  Late entries are allowed and enthusiastically welcome.  

5)  No hating on other ships or characters—we’re here to celebrate and enjoy Spinaraki, so if there’s a character you can’t include without bashing them disproportionately to the canon, just don’t include them.  Likewise, please be respectful of other participants and their work, whether or not it’s to your particular taste.

6)  We reserve the right to exercise moderator discretion in the case of borderline rule violations or unforeseen issues.

[somethingforsenro]

today, i found out about b1gc4lgut.

some would be tempted to take this as a sob story about the dangers of online communities, and see the world as a darker place for having encountered this person. but i find something inspiring in the story of b1gc4l and how they were run off.

cw: incest and homophobia, under the cut

looking at their behavior… the squid sisters incest part didn't really surprise me, but how can you be homophobic and a splatoon fan? how does that work? literally everyone in the game has ✨queer energy✨, thats like a huge part of the reason why it's a unique game in the first place (other parts including the unique gameplay and the heavy social commentary of the story, both of which are celebrations of queerness and also neurodiversity in their own ways)

like, if you look at their blog, they say bye to the splatoon fandom and bigcal is canon. you'd think they got driven out for shipping bigcal, but… no, you got driven out for spamming people asks with an image of callie and marie kissing, making homophobic comments, and making a new account to harass people who previously blocked you. sit DOWN.

now, there are many bad things that can be said about the splatoon fandom, most of which are not unique to splatoon. but what really got bigcal laughed out of the community is not some great failing of the internet – it's a great success story of the splatoon fandom; one trait we have in spades, moreso than any other community i've ever been a part of.

in the splatoon fandom,

we look out for our own.

if you mess with one of us, you mess with all of us. if you act like a child and harass people, then we're all going to come together and block you until you can't get away with it anymore. if you make an alt account, we'll call you out on it and ID you, and we'll make sure that all our mutuals hear about it before you can get to them.

it's not just a tumblr thing, either. on a discord server i'm in – a crossover server, in fact; not even a splatoon server – a new person joined in recent memory who had a callie pfp. i recognized it as splatoon and got a little excited – it's a fellow splatoon fan! so, i approached them, but… they didn't really react how i expected.

they acted a bit strange – they barely acknowledged me, which is weird, since splatoon fans in my experience are generally excited to see each other in the wild. another person in the server, a fellow splatoon fan, thought the same thing… and also noticed the new person seemed rather familiar, even though the account wasn't one he'd seen before.

so, he asked them if they knew each other. all of a sudden, they got super evasive and suspicious, then suddenly went offline. not a good look!

that other long-time member and i had only really had one conversation before, where i chatted with them about splatoon lore. we barely knew each other. but, when it became clear the new guy was hiding something, that other person DMed me and asked what i thought. i told him, truthfully, that i didn't recognize the new person at all, but i had a real bad gut feeling about them.

in minutes, we'd gotten in contact with a team of at least 10 other splatoon fans we knew, and all of us worked together to figure out what was up with this person based on publicly available information. the discord account on which they joined was just weeks old, and no one recognized it; it linked to a social media account, probably just to get past account verification, which was made the same day as the discord account and had zero activity.

it rapidly became clear that this was a very high-effort throwaway, created by someone who really didn't want us to know who they were, painstakingly crafted to dodge even the strictest verification algorithms while giving no information about the person behind the screen.

as it turns out, the person we were so suspicious of was a highly dangerous individual who had previously been banned from the server multiple times on multiple different accounts. this was just their latest, and most subtle, attempt to worm their way back into the server.

and they might have gotten away with it, too, if only they hadn't made one crucial mistake: they used a splatoon pfp without talking the talk, and that got the actual splatoon fans' attention.

i've never been prouder to say: don't fuck with the splatoon community. if you do, a plague upon thy house, woe upon thy relations, and shame upon thee. all hope abandon, ye who enter here; look upon our works, ye mighty, and despair.

never underestimate the power of community.

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

Marvel

Dumb, Dumber and Dumbass by tempestaurora

As Coach Wilson peered out the window in the living room, May said, very quietly, “You didn’t realise your brother worked at Peter’s school?”

“We all make mistakes!” Sam hissed.

Then Coach Wilson was leaning back and a figure in a hoodie and jeans stepped through the window and into the living room, and Peter’s heart sank into his stomach like a rock. Sam’s brother was, true to story, scarred from head to toe. He could see the puckered skin on his hands, the burns across his bald head. But that wasn’t the shocking part—the shocking part was that he’d already seen it before: he’d seen it when a certain vigilante’s suit had been destroyed three nights before, and Peter had walked with him back to his backpack to loan him some clothes.

“This is Wade,” Sam introduced.

Sam Wilson had two brothers: one was Peter’s gym teacher, and the other was fucking Deadpool.

OR: A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Family Dinner, during which Peter and May meet Sam's family. Meanwhile, Tony sends constant text updates about his search for whoever graffiti-ed Avengers Tower.

Death Before Inaction by hppjmxrgosg

"Fuck off, Nicky.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “Hasn’t anyone ever told you spider-napping is illegal?” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “You can’t hold me here, I know my spider-rights.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “God, you guys are so old. What are you? Like 27?” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “Scale of 1 to 10, how upset would you be if I told you I banged your mom?” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Or, I got my grubby little hands on the spider-man time line and fucked around a little bit. Not much (everything) changes.

DC / Star Wars (Crossover)

Obi-Wan in Gotham by hoebiwan (+ podfic)

Obi-Wan falls through a hole in the universe and ends up in the Batcave.

Clone Wars

the war has just begun by unintentionalgenius

The first problem was that the Supreme Commander didn’t give them enough warning about what they were stumbling into, when they were ordered out into it. Someone above General Kenobi’s head sent the men planetside in standard-issue gear, without thermal clothing or heat packs or sleeping kit or enough food for more than a single day. They had no extra ammo, no tents, no heavy artillery. They had barely any warning.

The second problem was that Supreme Command underestimated the strength of the enemy; it was supposed to be an easy enough job, holding the planet long enough to route the Seppies and then right back to the ship, leaving a contingent of troopers stationed there to retain what they’d won.

The third problem - the real problem - came when they let themselves become surrounded and the Separatists cut their supply line. Cody’s partially at fault for that one; a better Commander would’ve seen it coming. A better Commander would’ve had more backup plans, been prepared for more contingencies.

Being cut off from re-supply would’ve been a problem before the snow started.

Then the snow started.

I've never made it with moderation by Trixree (+ podfic)

He’d known how some of the men are with younglings—known from Waxer and Boil how sharply those attachments can form with little ones. Hell, the men were raised to be protective, so much so that Obi-Wan has often wondered if their protective drive was not written into their very atoms, some intrinsic part of their DNA.

It wasn’t something Obi-Wan had ever questioned. He’d thought he had understood the scope of it. In reality, he hadn’t understood a thing.

Not until Kamino.

Or: Not all that dive from cliffs make a running head start. Sometimes, the Fall is only a natural progression.

Standards of Professionality by Trixree

"Are we going to pretend I didn’t just find you fucking your General, vod?” Rex hisses over private-comm.

Cody doesn’t even turn his head to look at him. Rex can hear the smile in Cody’s voice when he replies, “No, because I am not fucking my General, Rex’ika. I am fucking Obi-Wan. We are professionals.”

5 times Cody and Obi-Wan struggled to maintain plausible deniability regarding their affections for one another + 1 time they decidedly Did Not.

The Hunger Games

Lover & Loner by amateurwordbender

Haymitch once told him that he’s a survivor. It hadn’t been a compliment; he’d slurred out the words in pity after finding Finnick shaking apart from a panic attack.

Jo’s a survivor, too.

(Finnick and Johanna, from the moment they meet to the bitter end)

Original Works

for the want of a jewel by FormlessVoidbeast

With his country fallen to the unstoppable tide of the Dread Warlord, a terrified king sends a peace offering of his own flesh and blood in the hopes of buying leniency.

When Prince Damian of Miska is accepted as the symbol of his country's surrender and immediately wedded to the Warlord, he expects his fate to be both painful and humiliating, and his death inevitable. To his confusion, the Warlord and his terrible Warlock seem to have no interest in abusing that which they have claimed as their own. As Damian finds his feet and gains friends in a new land, he begins to question everything he once thought was true.

But some jewels were never meant to be sold, and the consequences of Damian's sacrifice are more far-reaching than anyone expected.

[quadrantadvisor]

Danny Phantom Crossover Angst Week: Prompt - GIW Experimentation

Fandom: Marvel "Team Red"

Words: 2,550

Read on AO3

The new government offices in the Kitchen were suspicious, simply by virtue how un-suspicious they were. Matt, Foggy, and Karen had poured over their documentation, and found it to be squeaky clean and overly banal. Not that it mattered, really, when Matt was going to stake out their building regardless. Newcomers on his turf had to prove themselves.

Matt didn’t like what he heard.

It may, in fact, be time to call in the cavalry. No matter how deeply, desperately, Matt did not want to do that.

-

“You hear that, Spidey?” Wade Wilson crooned. “Ol’ Hornhead needs our help.”

“Never thought I’d see the day,” Spiderman said mirthfully, shaking his head.

They’d been like this for several minutes. Matt was cataloging and systematically shuffling through his life choices, trying to decide which one in particular led him to this moment (so that if he ever had the opportunity to time travel, he could prevent this.)

“Listen,” he told them. “I called you because I have reason to believe this situation is urgent, but my source has been unable to retrieve certain necessary information.”

“Like what?” Spiderman asked before Deadpool could get a word in edgewise.

“Like the dimensions of the building. I know that they don’t match the official schematics, but not what they actually are.”

“That seems very unlikely,” Wade cut in. “I thought you had like, a psychic connection to every part of your kitchen. How does anyone build something without you knowing about it?”

“I’m not psychic,” Matt deadpanned. Who needed a sixth sense? Matt did just fine with the ones he had. “But the answer is, very carefully.”

“Sure, sure,” Spiderman said. “And what’s the actual emergency?”

“They’re holding someone against their will,” Matt told him, glad to cut to the chase. “I have reason to believe that this person is in a great deal of danger, and has been tortured and experimented on for a significant amount of time.”

“The US government is doing this?” Spiderman asked, surprised. “After how many human rights scandals we’ve had in the past few years? Are they stupid?”

“Yes,” Matt answered immediately. “But there seems to be some question of this person’s level of sentience. My source said the attitude of the agents was, ‘Don’t worry if it’s screaming, that means it’s working.’”

The cold slide of a katana being drawn made Matt realize that he should’ve been paying more attention to Deadpool, who had become strangely quiet.

“DP, you good?” Spiderman asked, because he was naive enough to ask questions he already knew the answer to. Matt had gotten caught up in his own urgency, and completely forgotten to take Wade’s history into account. He’d stumbled into a thorny web of traumas, and had no one to blame but himself.

“Doing great, Spidey!” Deadpool said with a cold cheer, and Matt fought the urge to shiver. “Feeling very ready to teach some remedial lessons on human/alien/magical and/or mechanical construct rights! C’mon, team, time’s a-wasting!” And he was off.

Spiderman turned towards Matt and paused, presumably trying to share some sort of look (which wouldn’t have worked regardless, did he forget he wore a full face mask?) Then he tensed to leap, and Matt followed suit, the two of them determined to clean up whatever mess Deadpool made.

-

Deadpool had been made emphatically aware that, if he killed on their watch, neither Spiderman nor Daredevil would ever work with him again. Matt guessed that that promise was the only thing keeping him from further brutality. The stench of blood grew quickly cloying.

“HEY!” Spiderman shouted on his left.

“What?” Deadpool asked in front of him. “It’s not like he needs both hands.”

Spiderman’s webbing thwip-ed out, staunching the wound. “You guys picked a really bad day to wear white,” he said to the swearing agent.

“Lay off the suits, freak!” another one said, aiming his strange weapon at Matt’s friend. Matt quickly disarmed him.

Their suits were entirely white? No wonder they smelled so strongly of starch and bleach. Another point towards government stupidity.

The three of them made their way deeper into the facility, and white suits were replaced with white lab coats, though the scientists still carried the little noisy pistols, powered by something Matt couldn’t identify by smell. Whatever kind of energy it was, it left strong taste on his tongue, like citrus and metal and sparking electricity.

Then, finally, they found what they were looking for.

As soon as he opened the door, Deadpool’s tone changed, from frightening mania to a solemn sort of despair. “Fuck,” he said under his breath.

Matt was in an unfamiliar building, having to feel his way through as he went. He’d had to navigate combat situations while ignoring a great many assaults upon his senses, from loud alarms to overwhelming scents to a completely unfamiliar power source that made his skin tingle. But the inside of that room was worse. Matt resisted the urge to plug his nose against the air saturated with bleach, old blood, and rotten… whatever it was.

Spiderman, seeing into the room, gasped, then composed himself, following Deadpool inside.

“Hey, kid,” Deadpool said softly. This was why, despite all the instincts telling him otherwise, Matt trusted Wade. Wade cared about vulnerable people, in a way that was both obvious and experienced. He wore his care on his sleeve. Matt couldn’t help but admire it, and felt a kinship he couldn’t quite deny. “We’re gonna get you out of here, okay?”

A mumble responded, drawing Matt’s attention, and he drew short. There was certainly a structure in the center of the room, and upon that structure (gurney?) was…

It was unlike anything Matt had ever experienced. It was in the shape of a person, yes, but it was almost like the absence of a person. Cold emanated from the space, but air seemed to pass right through it. Sound was drawn in by the shape, muffled. Was there really someone there? Matt’s skin prickled. (Matt still wasn’t psychic. But something about it didn’t feel right. Like it wanted him to be afraid.)

The figure wheezed.

“He can’t be older than sixteen,” Spiderman whispered.

“Hey, kid, hey, they really did a number on you, huh? Can you hear me?”

This time, there was no response, just the same shallow, painful breaths.

“Alright, up we go then,” Deadpool said, reaching for the figure. Matt almost called out, almost told him not to touch it. He half expected Deadpool’s hands to fall right through. But contact was made, and Deadpool hefted what apparently looked like a young teenaged boy into his arms.

“Alright besties, you clear the way and I’ll cart the kid out of here,” Deadpool said, tone comically sweet.

Again, Matt wanted to protest. Now that they had the captive, the rescue seemed less urgent. He wanted to know just what was going on here, what the subject was, why he was being studied. He had a bad feeling, was all.

Matt held his tounge. Deadpool and Spiderman’s hearts were both racing, and they radiated fear and concern. Something was leaking from the boy, something that smelled like the power source of the agent’s weapons but somehow more organic. Matt’s bad feeling didn’t matter, not until something bad actually happened. He could come back later and collect the information he needed, especially since he’d be able to use actual stealth to do it (thank you, Wade, for barging in.)

They went out the same way they’d come in, mowing through agents much less brutally now that Deadpool’s hands were fully. The number of people working in this building was frankly ridiculous.

The agents were not shy about targeting Deadpool, seeming unconcerned about any harm that may come to their captive. As they passed, they shouted at them, telling them to “Drop the subject!” or “Give up the Ghost Kid!”

(Ghost Kid? No, he couldn’t be a ghost. That was ridiculous. That wasn’t what ghosts were like, it couldn’t be.)

(Oh sweet Mother Mary.)

Spiderman started webbing the agents’ mouths shut.

When they had nearly reached their goal of escape, the figure began to murmur and shift.

“Hey kiddo, you with us?” Deadpool asked.

“Who’re you?” was the slurred response.

“Just your friendly neighborhood mercenary!” Deadpool chirped. “And I’m getting you out of here.”

“We’re leaving?” croaked the boy.

“Yep! Me’n my buddies,” Deadpool moved his head, gesturing to Matt and Spiderman, “we’ll keep you safe. These creeps aren’t gonna touch you, never again.”

The being moved suddenly, lurching up in Wade’s grasp, maybe meeting his eyes or grabbing his arm?

“The research,” he gasped, “the containment devices, the weapons, you have to destroy them! What they’re trying to do, it’s-” he broke off, coughing weakly.

“Kid?” Deadpool asked.

“An entire dimension,” the boy answered weakly. “They want to destroy an entire dimension.”

The alarms were still blaring. The number of agents coming in from different parts of the building hadn’t slowed. As bad as that sounded, and as much as Matt wanted to get their research away from them and into more capable and ethical hands (Karen), they didn’t have time if they didn’t want to take huge risks.

“We’re leaving,” Matt said, the full gravel of the devil in his voice. “We’ll stop them, but not tonight.”

“Yeah buddy, don’t worry, we’re gonna take care of it,” Spiderman assured him.

“You don’t understand,” the boy said, distraught.

Their group had reached the first floor. Matt was bruised and exhausted, but none of the combatants were experts in hand to hand. They were going to make it out of this, mission complete, none the worse for wear. It could’ve gone a lot worse.

“I’ll do it myself.”

The figure in Deadpool’s arms suddenly, inexplicably, dropped. No struggle, no loosening of Deadpool’s grip. It was like he fell straight through them.

Despite his weakness, the boy slipped away when Wade reached out for him. Then he, if Matt’s senses weren’t playing tricks on him, started floating.

“Back up,” he said, “and cover your ears.”

Matt didn’t like to muffle his senses, but he wasn’t an idiot. When a being like that said to protect your hearing, you did it. He pressed his palms tight to his ears and moved away.

It wasn’t enough.

What came from the thing could barely be called a sound. The sensation was almost physical, air distorting worse than the concussive blast of an explosion. He directed it down, down, through every level of the building, and the floor pushed back in waves as it fought against its own destruction. Inevitably, it failed, and Matt hugged desperately against the wall, hoping he wouldn’t lose the very ground beneath his feet. He sincerely doubted any electronics could survive the onslaught, meaning that whatever records and weapons were being stored here would be just as gone as the boy had wanted.

Matt didn’t know how long the attack lasted, maybe just seconds, regardless of how long it felt in his pain. The ringing in his head didn’t stop with the onslaught, and he removed his hands cautiously, hoping he wasn’t bleeding. Matt rose from his crouch, and tried to figure out what to do next. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t hear anything over the ringing, could only stand there and wonder if a single step would send him plunging to his death, if the ringing was just too loud or if his hearing was gone for good (he could do it, he could, but please, God, he didn’t want to, didn’t want to adjust, to lose such a huge part of the world around him, please, not again.)

He startled when someone touched his arm. “-hear me?” they asked, and Matt realized it was Spiderman, because he could feel his heartbeat through his fingers, knew the resonance of his voice in his chest, and Matt resisted the urge to cling to him for some sense of normalcy, because yes, even though he couldn’t hear him, he knew the vibrations of his body and could still interpret them.

“There you are,” Spiderman said. “Just mouth stuff at me, my ears are shot after that. You good?”

Matt grunted, and was disturbed by the lack of feedback within his own skull. “Can’t hear a thing,” he reluctantly admitted, doing his best to turn towards where he figured Spiderman’s eyeline was. He paused, uncomfortable, but added, “A bit dizzy, too.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” Spiderman immediately replied, getting a better grip on Matt’s arm and starting to pull him somewhere. It wasn’t easy guidance, like Foggy would offer, it was a firm lead, something Spiderman would use to pull civilians away from danger. Matt suffered the indignity, seeing as he could barely stand straight and had almost no idea where the holes in the floor were. “Man, that kid scared the shit out of me. I’m so glad I managed to catch him.”

Catch him? That made sense, maybe, if whatever power that had kept him suspended gave out after that display. Spiderman didn’t have the boy now, though, so he must’ve handed him off to Deadpool, or maybe he’d used his webs.

The air changed, and Matt figured they’d made it outside. He expected Spiderman to let go of him, and felt both relieved and embarrassed when he didn’t.

Air moved, the ground vibrated, and Matt could tell someone approached them. Spiderman didn’t react negatively, so likely it was Deadpool. The mercenary stood in front of them, speaking, but the breeze whisked the vibrations away and Matt couldn’t make out his voice.

“Don’t ask me,” Spiderman replied. “Hey, you paying attention Double D? What the heck do we do with an incredibly powerful, partially human, transforming kid who may also be bleeding out?”

Transforming? Bleeding out? Matt had thought the blood smell was just Deadpool. Without thinking, he reached forward, seeking more information. After a moment, he made contact, and felt relieved at the familiar heart and breaths. Thus oriented, he moved his hand down to the figure in Wade’s arms.

It was a normal human boy. No uncanny not-there-ness, no hum of energy and power, just a kid with blood pumping through his veins and dripping from a poorly treated would along his torso.

“I don’t know,” Matt said. “Hospital?”

“I am not just dropping him off at a hospital,” Deadpool said. “If that’s your plan, I’ll just take him back to my place and-”

“Hey, Daredevil, didn’t you say you couldn’t hear?” Spiderman interrupted.

Matt nodded absentmindedly. “Not a thing.”

“We’re wearing full face masks,” Spiderman pointed out. “How do you know what we’re saying?”

Deadpool gasped dramatically. “He IS psychic!”

Matt sighed heavily, wishing he could drop his head into his hands, but that would necessitate letting go of his friends. “Claire is going to hate me for this,” he lamented.

“Who’s Claire?” Spiderman asked.

“He didn’t deny it!” Deadpool crowed.

“I’ll explain on the way,” Matt said, ignoring the mercenary. “You’re going to have to guide me though, I’m practically useless right now.”

“Sure thing,” Spiderman said, not needing more than that, and Matt knew that there was a reason he liked him.

Their group, much worse for wear and plus a new member, headed off again into the night.

[animalsalvationassociation]

Calling all Octo-Agents!

Yes! You! Please read till the end, and if you don't have the patience/energy for it rn, come back later! It'll be worth it I promise!

So the holidays are now pretty much over, (except for New Years ofc, but I digress.) meaning I've been looking for new ways to improve my Au. You see, it's come to my attention that I'm not as organized or as thorough as I thought I was.

I've created a lot of lore/characters for this Au, but not very many people really know what's going on anymore. Even I get lost, and it's been a little frustrating ngl. So, seeing as this blog is officially over a year old, I think it's time to "fix" my mistakes and take a new approach.

Ya'll might've noticed that I've been slowing down on content. I haven't been spending as much time on my art, meaning the quality (well I wouldn't say it's gotten worse) hasn't been as strong as some others I've created in the past.

(Don't get me wrong, I'm not making a resolution for the new year, that's dumb and we all know those never last.)

So here's what I'm promising instead since this clearly is the only thing I'm allowed to work on at the moment (not saying I don't have other projects, but if I want to actually publish this story at any point I'm going to have to spend as much time as I can on it, meaning I have to make some sacrifices - RIP my FNaf's & Undertale fanfics)

1. Full Character Redesigns

Taking all the core characters (The Octonauts / Octo-Agents / Y.N. & Fae / The A.S.A. / C.L.A.D.E. / etc.) and giving them a full reference sheet with details, headcanons, and an updated design.

Creating family/relationship tree for those characters (parents/siblings/love interests/etc.)

Family/Team “Photos”

Crossovers (I will still be doing multiple crossovers and soon they will get their very own redesigns!)

2. Updating the Master Post

3. Updating the “Pinned” Blog Post

For reference this will no longer be the current top post with all of the A.S.A. members, but a poster I will create for the fanfic to make the blog appear cleaner. (I won’t delete that post I’m just going to unpin it since the designs are old and not as useful as they used to be)

4. Asks will open January 1st, but I will not start answering any asks before February 1st!

That is so I can properly prepare and reevaluate the blog’s content so there is more information available to anyone who wants to ask questions for the Octonauts/Octo-Agents.

5. A.S.A.’s Rating & Genre (Fanfic)

This story will now be classified as Cryptozoological Fiction, with partial Horror / Science Fiction & will be drawing straight from Folklore & Mythology. (For “Sci-Fi” don’t think space/aliens, think Cryptids in a scientifically evolved world.)

The rating is now PG-14

(Poll Results)

6. Fanfiction

This is really for the fanfiction itself. I’m still trying to figure out how to go about this. As of this current moment I have 1, maybe 2 chapters written out, and soon I hope to have more. However I am my own editor/beta reader, so it might not be as polished as I’d like to be, but I’m just going to have to accept that.

Unless I can find a bunch of people who can do that stuff for me, for fun, that’s the state this story will be in. You’ll have to have patient with me, I’m using all the tools I have at my disposal (Grammarly, Google Docs, LibreOffice, etc.) but I am a human with heavy ADHD and reading/comprehension disabilities, so please be kind.

7. Weekly Posts

I will still be posting weekly, just not on Tuesdays. I realize it’s only been stressing me out to post on that day every week and so I’ve been abusing my attempts at a proper sleep schedule because of it. I still work a very busy retail job and will have to get a secondary job sometime soon, so unfortunately you’ll just have to add me to your notifications if you want to know when I’ve posted.

8. The Future . . .

This one is for anyone who’s gotten this far. I want you to know that the Octonauts still mean so much to me. Even if we aren’t getting updates anymore, the community is still somewhat alive even if it's only a few of us. Maybe one day we’ll get our kickstart, but for now I will continue making content until I’m satisfied with the story and it’s ending. If I stray every now and then, that’s just because I have the attention span of a goldfish with a million hobbies and fandoms that constantly need attention. I love you guys and I promise to do my very best to make my mark on the internet, even if it’s for a silly kids show about talking/walking/nerdy animals who save fish every day.

9. January's Posting Plan

Week 1: Finishing the Octonaut's Headcanons

Week 2: My Christmas gift to the Community

Week 3: Silly Y/N & Fae Content (No it doesn't make sense, deal with it)

Week 4: Screencap Redraw

Week 5: Starting Redesigns

If you made it this far . . . here's a cookie and the secret formula.

🍪🍾

[e-rated-beardo]

2024 fic roundup

@cheeseplants created this ask/tag game, and I've been tagged by @addledmongoose and @harlotofupdog, here we gooo

What fandoms do you write in?

200% Good Omens. First proper fandom experience. First thing that forced (aye, forced) me to write a fanfic. Huge obsession.

If I were to write for anything else, it might be Our Flag Means Death, or Doctor Who, or perhaps House M.D. or some flavour of Star Trek. Or a crossover between one of those and GO. I'm a completely normal amount of obsessed with Aziraphale and Crowley.

How many words have you published in 2024?

*goes to ao3 stats page*

*hits "2024"*

...220,232 words

What the whole entire fuck!?

And there's another three chapters left on Scorn to go before New Year's, so we'll comfortably surpass 231k. How in the actual fuck is that possible.

What is your greatest achievement this year?

Getting this comment:

What are your favourite top three fics you wrote this year?

Not Single Spies (the third part of Nice And Ominous, which can be read on its own or with the two preceding parts); The Co-pilot; and I'm going to say Scorn and the Saint-Maker, although that's far from finished, because it's been the entirety of my past half-year.

Not Single Spies (part III of Nice And Ominous: a reluctant eschatology of the Second Attempt) Rated E; 61k words Second Coming/post-S2 fic; plot-driven

A man with pale hair turns up in Saint Peter's Square, naked and without memory, and Crowley's old sense of Aziraphale's location snaps like a twig. Heaven is down another Supreme Archangel—but the new Christ is already on Earth (in France, to be precise) and the Second Coming is well underway. And Crowley works for Hell now, but really, he works for the good of humanity; pulling on every friend he has to stop the end of the world.

There is some smut in this, but it's only three sections and they're all skippable. The rest of the story is rated T with no major warnings.

The Co-pilot Rated E; 4k words Human-ish AU; shameless smut

An un-English heatwave, a few open shirt buttons and the demonic entity possessing an innocent Londoner conspire to make long-time friends Az and Tony finally get over themselves and bone.

Scorn and the Saint-Maker Rated E; 97k words so far (WIP) Human not-actually-AU; sorta-post-S2; plot-driven, smutty, mathsy; four plots in a trench coat

Doctor Crowley has turned truancy into an art form, lecturing only under sufferance. Doctor Fell has signed up for his undergraduate course and has no plans to let him slack off. When a faculty member is found dead, our heroes start forming uneasy suspicions. What was the occult symbol drawn next to the body? Why does it feel like they’ve known each other forever? How is Crowley supposed to tell police that he thinks the murderer is a demon he summoned 35 years ago? And what about that statue that’s the spitting image of the victim?

They've been turned human. Now they're academics in Scotland. Romance, weirdness and (skippable!) smut ensue. The fic has some warnings, so check the tags.

What was your biggest pit of despair moment?

I had a nasty week in August, when I got depressive symptoms as a side effect of a necessary medication and spent ~10 days convinced everything I did was shit.

I'm also kind of in one at the moment, but without the pharmaceutical explanation/excuse. I'm just... urgh. Things are stuck. It's. It's a thing. Idk.

What have you learned?

You're expecting me to list everything I've learnt related to writing and fandom and fandom writing in less than an entire academic essay? Are you out of your entire mind!? (❤️)

Big things: I've learnt that I do have the capacity to finish big stories; that things I write are good enough that people want to read them and look forward to reading them and give me all these amazing compliments on them and go slightly feral sometimes; and that if I'm enthusiastic enough about maths, I can trick some folks who didn't even like maths into sort of liking maths.

Smaller things: A smattering of fancy vocabulary. How to paint with watercolour. How to draw Michael Sheen's nose and David Tennant's lower lip. The fact that I have a massive praise kink. More than I knew there was to know about em-dashes and en-rules. Heaps of random facts about the Bible, angels, demonology, poetry, Scotland Yard, Shakespeare, wine, dicks, queer identities I don't have, and queer identities I do have. And a bunch about how to watch/read/consume media with my eyes open and my brain switched on.

What fic did you want to do but never made it off the ground?

I still low-key want to continue The Co-pilot into... something. And That Berry Ice Cream from last December has been sort of asking for a follow-up, which just hasn't happened.

I had this idea, shortly after that week in November that the Americans don't like to think about, for something short, snappy, and a little cathartic; a fuck the system-type deal, both to that political shitshow and to all the sad crap fucking over the GO fandom lately, and I started to write it but got stuck not even a thousand words in. Maybe it just wasn't that good of an idea.

Did you beta any fics? Any favs you want to shout out?

I did my first toe-dipping of a beta read just the other month, for Easy Access by @ModernDayKlutz. I've not dared to jump into beta:ing properly for fear that my old flakiness will resurface and make me disappoint a person I've made a promise to, but this one seemed contained enough that I felt I could contribute. Especially with Kilt Knowledge™️.

What three fics have you read this year that you love?

THREE!??!?

All right, so I'm looking through my bookmarks, and, as it turns out, That Fic I Keep Recommending Basically All The Time was one I only read - or at least, finished reading - early this year!

Mint Tea by @copperplatebeech - 31.5k words; rated E - is one of those fics that half the fandom have heard about, right? I don't know if it happened to hit me at a formative point in my fandom life or if it's simply That Good, which is also very likely, but thirsty-well-hung-Dom!Crowley lives in my head for free and will not move out, it seems. It's scorching and funny and sweet, and when I say it gave me the idea to try some... things... which I hadn't tried before, in... certain parts of my life... 🔥🫠

Fanfic, uh... changes lives, y'all! Ahem, well then, onwards:

Come as you are by hiya_angel - 4k words, rated E - this gave me some of the experience reflected in that gorgeous comment above. The angst is minimal and the smut is gorgeous and wonderfully sweet and I adore this fandom for making me feel hope again and again for all this trans stuff that's still comparatively new to me.

Submitted for Your Consideration by @zehwulf - 19k words, rated E - contains possibly the most spectacular description of subspace I've read in... ever? And when it comes to bowling me over with porn, I could probably just pick anything by ZehWulf because whatever story I pick up it ends with me sitting there absolutely sweating. And feeling fuzzy inside. And maybe also crying for joy.

HERE'S A FOURTH ACTUALLY, YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME:

Lucid by @twilightcitysky - 35k words, rated E. It's unfinished and I barely even care at this point, because something about this fic changed me. It's So. Fucking. Good. It's one of those (rare? Not in this fandom! But a little rare, probably) stories where the smut is absolutely plot-crucial. It's also excruciatingly clever and angstier than I thought I would like (I was wrong! I LIKE IT) and the characters are great. And it's written just beautifully.

What ideas are percolating for next year?

More Scorn. (Don't trust the projected chapter count. Knowing myself, there'll be more of them. Or I might be done with less. It's a completely unqualified approximation.)

More Co-pilot, maybe? (I have Ideas.)

A slightly more fantastical fic that goes into a smut genre I haven't really explored at all before. And which has made me research goats' pupils.

Plus, I want to look into making podfics more. Maybe get better at it. Maybe even try out doing voice work for money? (I'm talking to a guy, it's completely wild, but damn it might be a thing I could do)

Who do you want to thank?

@addledmongoose (quite unintentionally) brought me to Tumblr. (She wrote a review of Nice And Ominous, and it was so lovely, I wanted to go there and like it and respond to it properly, so I just had to create an account, you know? No other options.) I'm so glad I'm here.

@bakingcat made excitable comments about my linguistics-nerdery-snuck-into-sex-scene and made me realise you can actually make friends in fandom.

@klikandtuna wrote the fic which I was a completely normal amount of obsessed with this summer, and which led to (via an instance of fanwork of the fanwork) me being flooded with love from strangers one random Friday and getting put in contact with that voice work guy. We also had the most wonderfully grown-up conversation about a tricky thing, for which I am so very proud and grateful.

@harlotofupdog came straight over to read Scorn almost right when I started posting it - I can't quite remember now, but the timing isn't the important bit - and wrote some absolutely glorious comments. D'you know you're the first writer whose work I'd already been painfully obsessed with, who's also expressed obsession with mine? D'you know how bloody cool that is??

And finally the unhinged smutgoblins of The Beta Fishes The Big Fucks server - idk who to thank anymore because I can't recall who invited me (it was past 3am and I'd just watched Michael Sheen shirtless for an hour, you'll have to forgive a guy) but all of y'all are weirdos and I love to hang out with yous and draw dicks and discuss writing and scream about Rivals and definitely not put mustaches on anyone.

No-pressure tags (in addition to everyone tagged above - please feel free to consider yourselves tagged-tagged if you like) without checking who's already been tagged in this before, because that's A Lot of Work that I don't want to do:

@wiblywoblytimeywimey754 @brenna @majnoonathelibrarian annnnd @kiratastic, pretty sure this could be modified to work for an art perspective too? Right? (If you want)

[teecupangel]

Dc x Ac Crossover idea

Desmond survived the solar flare and thru events become bruce Waynes sugarbaby

Feel free to ignore just thought it might be an interesting concept

To make this easier for us, we’ll have Desmond transported into the DC world after the Solar Flare. This way, we don’t have to make an excuse why the other DC superheroes couldn’t do something about the Solar Flare or how they learned about it too late.

Or… you know… we can have Desmond meet Batman because the Justice League was able to stop the Solar Flare and that leads to Batman learning about the Grand Temple and meeting Desmond.

Anyway, regardless of how it’s done, the main setup would be that Desmond would set up shop in Gotham because it’s more of his alley. The rogue gallery there is something he can manage and Gotham is under Batman’s purview so he doesn’t normally have to deal with the other DC characters… normally.

In this situation, Desmond would not know anything about Batman or DC as his world doesn’t have DC comics. So when he meets Bruce Wayne in a gala or something where he’s working as the bartender, he just thought of him as a charming rich dude.

A charming rich dude that he sucked off during his break.

But that’s about it.

Then, a few weeks later, Bruce Wayne comes into his bar and they talk…

He serves him drinks and one of his “we have no menu you eat what I want to cook for the day” meal…

They fucked in the small apartment he has above the bar…

Bruce Wayne leaves and Desmond thought that would be the end of it.

He wasn’t expecting anything from Bruce.

And he’s trying to keep a low profile as he build up his information network so he can plan how to to be an Assassin in Gotham without making a mistake that will shatter the order holding Gotham if he was to start building his Brotherhood.

Then…

Bruce Wayne visited his bar once again (always while it was closed) and…

Things spiral from there.

At first, Desmond assumed they were fuck buddies which he didn’t mind.

Then…

Bruce started giving him expensive gifts and Desmond can’t say no, not when his Bleed of Ezio has given him a taste of how nice it was to have expensive good quality things…

And then…

Bruce started taking him to places… high quality hotels… restaurants that need reservation for months just to get in…

Vacation spots that needs them having to use Bruce’s private jet…

It was only when he finally met one of Bruce’s sons, Damien Wayne, who calls him ‘father’s paramour’ that he realized…

Holy shit.

He was Bruce Wayne’s sugar baby.

.

.

On the other side of this story is Bruce who had been surprised (and enjoyed) by the blowjob and had only done a cursory check of Desmond’s identity because… well… he has a history for romancing people who would stab him in the back later on and…

… came up blank.

Desmond has an identity, sure, but it was fake.

Before that…

There was nothing.

So he went to the bar to investigate further and…

They fucked in Desmond’s place above the bar.

After that…

Bruce started to visit to keep an eye on him.

He started to feel bad because he was having sex with someone who doesn’t know he was trying to figure out their real identity (especially when Desmond seems so earnest about how he appreciates Bruce’s visits) so he started… giving him gifts as a way of apologizing without really apologizing.

Then he started taking Desmond out, starting with Gotham to check if Desmond is okay being seen with him then…

He started bringing Desmond to other places, trying to check if anyone would recognize him some way or another.

And feel bad because he is making Desmond bait for whatever past he was trying to hide.

Until Damien called Desmond ‘father’s paramour’ and Bruce realized…

He was too deep in this that he cannot tell Desmond the truth in fear of Desmond leaving him and no longer even caring what past Desmond is hiding.

… oh.

He was in love.

… well, fuck.

[hexi-artchive]

guess who has been listening to vylet pony’ ‘monarch of monsters’ this past week?

MLP FIM X Yohaji crossover ramble below cut

Abe no Seimei [Starbright Spell] ~

his name was the easiest part of doing all of this, I liked how it rolled off my tongue the second I thought of it.

Seimei’s cutie mark is obviously his star aka his powers! What better way to express that ‘this is him’ than this? I would have done some swirls around it but they felt too distracting.

for his deign I obviously (again) had to make it as similar to the other two as I could, which meant I had to match them. I probably would have been more colorful. Originally I was gonna make him a unicorn in his regular clothes but I didn’t really know how to put his clothes on a pony/than Ame would be all alone in the naked department, so only hat…also

1( I couldn’t see Haru as a unicorn

2(I find it a really funny idea that Douman is a unicorn but still looses to an earth pony in magic

Abe Amaaki [Rainright Guard] ~

For the record, all the names are pending ok? They can’t all be winners! Anyway I wanted his name to match with Haru’s (in both have ‘g’ starting second names).

As for his cutie mark, I wanted so show how much he loves Haru. Yes this butt tattoo is for how much of a brocon he is! Since a cutie mark has been shown to not include your job necessarily but instead be more of a ‘this is your personality, likes, & something special/unique to you’ I thought this would make more sense. I probably should have turned his symbol black to show how he doesn’t have powers (as far as we’ve been shown if my memory serves me right) but it ok like this since this is just a silly AU. Concept wise it’s above seimei but design it could have been better I like to think he got his early, like after he vowed to love and protect Haru with all his life, only to be forever tattooed with a reminder of that vow on his flank (which he wears proudly)

honestly though, his character design is my second favorite, but I wish I did more (maybe add his blazer jacket or shades?). If he didn’t have to be an identical twin with Haru, I would probably have given his a different color palette but this still fits him in my opinion.

Abe Haruaki [Sunbright Quill] ~

His name took me so long and I still feel iffy on it, but I think it really works for him. Tho I could have gone for what his name means (clear weather) but that sounded more like a pegasus who works for the sky factory than a teacher, so I made this one.

his cutie mark is for his ‘sunny’ personality with his students while also being mistaken for Seimei’s. I like this one the best, shows his personality but not too overly detailed. Also it could be mistaken for Seimei’s if you forgot or don’t know seimei. If it didn’t have to be similar to seimei’s (gotta keep that reincarnation/look alike thing going in all AUs) it probably would have been more teacher-y, like chalk turning into a star/sun. Though I know for a fact he would be a blank flank until he started teaching at school (probably chapter 3/episode 1). Ame would cover up his mark to make Haru feel better for being wrongfully bullied for his blank status for sure!

this is my favorite design overall, it’s the reason both the others aren’t the best cause they’re based off of this one. I love the colors & his outfit details. I just love this one the best!