#begrudging allies

[witchkillers]

opening up the acolyte tag on ao3

[binary-bird]

war (@halcyyan) and the oracle, circa 1939

[morningstar-the-antichrist]

@holyfurnace for Cain

Despite having a bar in the Hotel, Jack would often bar crawl through Pentagram City. His demeanor was such a contrast from Charlie's and given his title, there were rumors that he didn't actually support his sister. That he was only being forced to play along because of rank.

It was bullshit, but it was being said enough that he caught whispers in different bars. Which was the point of his bar crawls. If Charlie wanted more residents, she needed a better idea of what was really going on in the minds of the Sinners. So he'd drink in different bars and listened to drunken rambles and gossip.

Sometimes he'd hear the odd reference to Heaven that he kept in his back pocket to later research if it seemed interesting enough. One of the latest rambles was about Adam's second son, Abel.

His mind stuck on the folklore he remembered learning about the Original Family. It was still on his mind when he spotted someone rather infamous in Hell.

The responsible thing to do was to not engage. Keep his head down and not go looking for trouble.

He was not the responsible child.

"You ever hear about the Bible's first baseball game?" Jack asked with a shiteating grin as he approached and hailed for another round of drinks, "In the big inning, Eve stole first, Adam stole second. Cain struck out Abel, and the Prodigal Son came home. The Giants and the Angels were rained out."

[fortjester]

if we're pash blogging today, i recently reread the end of nona and i had forgotten about the dynamic between pash and camilla. two women who choose violence <3

i was thinking abt this the other day!! you are so right!!!! everyone always talks abt her and corona (valid, they are fucked up and i am watching them thru binoculars) or her and nona (her just general apathy towards it is hilarious) but we just generally do not talk about her and cam's dynamic nearly enough!!! especially that last section you sent. i go insane over "i'll touch you at the end of the world, but not before" like Passion?? that was Extremely Gay, i hope you know that. (also couldn't be me, i would give anything to give camilla hect a firm handshake, outta my way gayboy)

[agentinred]

may i have this dance?

Music curled through the air, slow and heavy, like the last breath of something fleeting. Carmen had not expected to see him here, not in this moment at least, and certainly NOT with such an absurd proposition as if it were all merely a dance and not a meeting laced with unspoken motives.

In fact, her first instinct was NOT to answer—but she let out a long, theatrical s i g h, tilting her head back just enough to drain the last of her drink. The burn of it coated her throat, but she barely registered it, too preoccupied with the sudden absurdity of the situation. Because of course, it had to be him. It was always him, appearing like a BADLY timed plot twist in a story she was trying to rewrite. Her eyes flicked to his face, scanning for some TELL, some sign that this was all leading to an inevitable punchline. “ Is this business ? ” she asked finally, because it was the ONLY question that mattered. Because with him, it was always something. Always a game played in shadows, a step taken towards some CACLUATED trouble.

And yet—YET—there was something laughably amusing in his audacity, wasn’t there? The way he stood there, exuding that infuriating ease, as if his presence here was as natural as the low hum of the band or the golden flicker of light against crystal glasses. As if she should have expected him, should have known that if there was a night primed for things to go sideways, he’d find a way to be at the CENTER of it. She could have declined. Walked away. Tossed her empty glass onto the nearest table with the kind of finality that said try again in another lifetime. But Carmen was not the sort to deny herself a moment of amusement, especially when the world had a habit of unraveling far too soon. So she allowed it.

“Fine,” As if she had been FORCED to comply, “But if this ends with me getting shot at, I swear…”

[curiositykilledtheradiostar]

Ezra voice so you and Vanto had a “completely professional relationship” huh

[one-hit-boy-wonder]

“How did you just beat up those guys?!”

Jason: have you seen me?

Steph: that’s how hard I girlboss

Babs: i have shit I need to get done I didn’t have time for it

Brucie: by trying my best :)

Cass: i was literally born to brawl

Alfred: we don’t have time for the whole backstory

Duke: a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do

Tim: wait do you actually not know?

Damian: Mother raised me in the arts of how to fuck up a bitch

Dick: I’m just quirky like that :P

[roanofarc]

why don't you like neil gaiman? /genq

you can find a bunch of posts about that here: @neilman

(thank u paris for having this blog so i didn’t have to track down a bunch of links and posts)

[sleepy-salami]

this is such a small moment, and I totally missed it the last time I read this chapter, but

if I had a nickel for every time Wen Ning went out of his way to save Jiang Cheng and got kicked in response, I would have two nickels, which isn't a lot, but it's kinda funny that it happened twice

[psychicthepsychic-daily]

consider: downing a flask of methanol in one go

probably won't taste any different from tea right

decisions, decisions...

[krumsprompts]

prompt # 132

... and for his father's freedom, he gave the demon his wings.

[heuretourne-moved]

Consider this a dynamics call. ♡

[druckkugelschreiber]

I made the grave mistake of thinking „what Cipher oneshot am I writing today?“ right before going grocery shopping. So now I have to contain the sheer excitement of the idea my brain came up with until after and it’s killing me

[bookbender]

@lovelyelbowleech I just had to tag you in this!

I look forward to reading every chapter in your series All's Fair – the way you write original characters makes me either root for their success or their downfall as though they were in the canon series all along. In a time where people comment less and less on ongoing fanfics, I wanted you to know I think your writing is superb, thoughtful and also – KAZUMA X SHEN SLOW BURN FOR THE WIN !!!!!

I have never been so invested in OCs as I am when I read your work <3

P.s. one day,, one day. Azula will admit she has unwittingly been adopted by Kazuma.

fanfic writers are so fucking awesome man. they write novel length fics that are sometimes even better than some published bestselling books written by professional writers. like fanfic writers are professional writers to me and they gift us their masterpieces for free. they give us something we can look forward to after a long day. something from which we can seek comfort when life is hard. something that can be our own little getaway. in a world of capitalism, despite everything, they give us all of these for free. like holy fuck. shout out to every fanfic writer. I wish all fanfic writers a very ‘I love you with all my heart and soul. I thank you from the bottom of my heart’

[demonstars]

“i made it for you” georgie 😭😭😭😭 he’s such a sweetie pie

He wants dream to win

[luveline]

hii jade are u going to write something about hotchner!reader and spencer any soon?

—You panic when Spencer’s late for a date. He makes it up to you as best as he can. fem, 2.6k

cw implied past child abuse

You weren’t young when you were adopted, so you were instilled very quickly with the need to be grateful. How lucky you were to be given a second chance at a family. How you owed it to your new family to be the perfect daughter and sister to a father who didn’t like you and two brothers your senior. 

Family for you is complicated. It always has been. You didn’t get the unconditional love you’d hoped for in all of them, but you have one older brother who loves you as though you and him are two branches of the same tree, and maybe that’s enough for anyone. 

“Yes!” Aaron cheers, jumping up from the bench. 

You spin around with a grin that’s half shy, half ecstatic. “I did it!” 

Jack runs up to your legs. “You got a strike!” 

You pretend to give him a karate chop. “Boosh! Double strike.” You grin as Aaron sizes up the pins down the long ally. “Think your dad can get one before we run out of turns?” 

“No!” Jack laughs. 

You laugh at his easy answer. His father, determined now in the face of your disbelief, picks up a number twelve ball and stands at the arrows to take his last turn. You brace your hands on Jack’s shoulders and wait for the line to be put down again. 

You’re pretty sure he’s throwing his turns to let Jack win. You’d not done the same until you realised the yawning gap in the scores, and maybe you’d feel embarrassed for not noticing if Aaron ever made you feel bad for anything, but he doesn’t. 

Your phone rings as he pulls back his arm. You ignore it. “Good luck, dad!” Jack says under your hands. 

It’s that good luck that gives Aaron his strike. You cheer with Jack as the ball glides straight into the first pin and veers on a spin toward the third, creating a wave of noise and action as the pins go flying back toward the baseboard. 

Aaron turns around with a huge smile. “Jack!” 

“You did it!” Jack cheers back. “Not first, but you did!” 

You grab your phone from your pocket. “Couldn’t let me have it, could you?” you ask. 

“What do you mean?” Aaron picks Jack up from the floor to hold against his chest, pointing at the screen with love. “Look at that, buddy, you won! Can you see that? You got the most points!” Aaron kisses his cheek, high on happiness. “Wow!” 

You have two missed calls from Spencer. To Aaron’s begrudgement, you and Spencer are actually going steady. The first attraction didn’t fizzle, the dates turned to dating turned to exclusivity; Spencer Reid is your boyfriend, and he’s supposed to be taking you out to dinner in ten minutes. 

“Everything okay?” Aaron asks, creeping closer to you, Jack still in his arms. 

“It’s fine, he’s just running late.” You notice his small frown. “His mom’s doctor wanted to talk to him, that’s all.” 

“How late is he thinking?” 

The plan was you’d go bowling with your family and then meet Spencer outside to eat at the Chinese restaurant just across the parking lot, but it’s not seeming so sure now. 

“He said half an hour. I’m pretty hungry,” you say, “he’s gotta speak to a psychiatrist about something. I can’t eat though, right? That’s rude.” 

“That’s not rude, honey. You can’t help being hungry as much as he can’t help being late.” As you’d noticed his, he notices your small frown. “You can’t go hungry,” he says with a shrug, “so you’re gonna have to come and eat something, but Spencer can join us when he’s done.” 

“Right, because you’ll love that.” 

“I’ve been on more dates with him than you have.” 

You take Jack as he opens his arms toward you. “I forget. I always think of you as his boss, and not his teammate.” 

Aaron grabs Jack’s backpack off of the bench, and your empty cups off of the table to throw away. “I am his boss. Okay, Jack, what do you want for dinner? What sounds good?” 

You, Aaron and Jack leave the bowling alley and end up in the Italian restaurant opposite of your originally proposed restaurant. You carry Jack on your hip and text Spencer with your open hand, content to let Aaron guide you through what little foot traffic there is to your table. Aaron sits on one side of the booth with Jack, and you slide into the other side. 

Spencer’s texts are getting more and more convoluted. He says he’s sorry, and then he says he has to call someone else, and then he needs to talk to his mom. You nibble your fingernail. 

“You okay?” 

You nod slowly. “Yeah, uh… Yes, everything’s fine.” 

“Is Spencer okay?” 

“I think he might cancel.” 

Aaron flattens his menu. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay. I think his mom is having a bad day…” 

“What else are you worried about?” 

Jack saves you for a moment, “Dad, can I have juice?” 

“Yes, sweetheart, I’ll get you juice. Apple juice?” 

Jack presses his cheek to Aaron’s arm, earning himself a hug. 

“Are you tired?” Aaron whispers. 

“No.” 

“Okay. Hey, there’s a table over there with some colouring pages and crayons, do you see that? Do you want to do some colouring?” 

“Can I go get some?” Jack asks. 

“Yes. Don’t bump into anybody, okay?” 

The table isn’t far enough to worry, but Aaron splits his attention between Jack and you fairly evenly, just a tad more worry following his son. “Do you wanna talk about it?” Aaron asks. 

“You don’t think Spencer would lie, do you?” you ask. 

“Lie about his mother? I doubt it very much.” 

You trust Aaron, and you trust Spencer too, but Aaron has earned that trust over years and years where Spencer has been gifted it. He hasn’t done anything to break it, but he hasn’t proved he should have it yet either. And really, truly, it isn’t actually about what you believe of Spencer. 

You feel a bit nauseous, but your brother is the best person in the world, so you tell him why without preamble, “I’m worried that he’s going to get sick of me.” 

“Why would he do that?” Aaron asks. 

You scratch at the menu beneath your hand rather than meet his eyes. Because you’re awful. That’s what your father instilled in you, and it’s what you’ve come to learn. Eventually, the people who love you get tired of you. Everyone except Aaron, and isn't that proof of something? He’s the only man good enough to pretend you’re someone worth caring about. 

If he could hear your thoughts he’d probably cry. It’s why you’ve struggle to tell him. 

You rub your thumb into the side of your index finger, feeling the texture of your skin. “I think people just do.” 

Jack returns quickly, with paper and a huge fist full of crayons, though there are four colours altogether. “Well,” Aaron says, helping Jack back into his seat, crayons rolling released from a small fist every which way, “I don't. And Jack doesn’t, Haley doesn’t. I see no reason why Spencer would feel that way.” 

“What don’t I do?” Jack asks, frowning at his dad. 

“You don’t think Aunt Y/N’s bad at bowling, do you?” 

“You’re great at bowling!” Jack's eyes go wide. “I’m gonna make us a photo, to remember. We got strikes!” 

You let your face fall into your hand as Aaron strokes hair up the side of Jack’s head. It’s a soothing thing to see, you know the soft touch of his hand well, having been petted and patted through a hundred different bad moments. 

Spencer probably isn’t lying about why he’s late, but he could be. You wouldn’t blame him. 

“She’s very good at bowling,” Aaron says, hugging Jack to his side. “And so many other things, that’s why we love her. Should we make a list?” 

He used to love doing that, too. 

Your father wasn’t a nice or kind man. Aaron doesn’t know how it escalated, only knows what happened to him, and how he’d come to see you and you’d burst into tears the second he asked how you were. 

If Aaron knew how bad it was at the time he would’ve forced you to leave, but you never told the whole truth. He assumed it to be a mixture of everything —school was awful, dad was worse, and you were more isolated than most. 

Make me a list, he’d say. 

The first time you didn’t get it. You were a teenager sitting on his couch, his wife in the kitchen, a weight on your chest. What for? 

A list of the stuff that’s bothering you. 

Do you need a list? you’d asked. He had a knack for knowing more than you could say. 

I think we should make one. 

You realise now it was a strategy to calm you down. If you could quantify the things that were depressing you, you could begin to understand it, and hopefully dismantle some of the bigger problems. It didn’t always work, but it didn’t matter. It made you feel better just to have you and Aaron on the same couch with a notebook and a number two pencil. Don’t see my brother enough, he’d written with a sad face. 

Brother, you’d thought with a secret joy. He’s your brother. 

Jack and Aaron make a list they won’t show you. You order drinks and then dinner, waiting for a phone call or a text back you don’t receive. It’s disheartening, and when your pasta arrives, you can barely eat. 

“Honey,” Aaron says, “why don’t you go call him? You can see if he’s alright.” 

You poke at a shell with a tightly gripped fork. “What if he doesn’t want me to call him? It sounds serious.” 

“Maybe that’s why you should call him. I think he’d appreciate it.” He looks like he wants to reach for you, but ultimately, he doesn’t. “Take a minute for yourself, if nothing else. Everything’s okay, I promise.” 

“Sorry.” 

“For what?” Jack asks. 

You smile regretfully. “I’m just feeling confused today, babe. What about you? Are you confused about where your mouth is?” you tease lightly. 

Aaron gasps a laugh and reaches over to wipe Jack down with a napkin as you slip from the booth. You take your phone, worrying that Aaron’s eyes are on your back as you pass by the host booth and back out onto the street. The breeze kisses your clammy skin. 

Why do you assume that no one really likes you? It’s difficult to comprehend. Your thumb hovers over Spencer’s contact photo, debating, and debating. Should you call him? He might be preoccupied, upset even, and what if you make it worse? But if you don’t call him, you can’t reassure yourself that you’re not in trouble. 

He answers on the third trill. 

“Hello?” you ask. 

“Hey!” There’s a sound like something heavy has been put down. “Hey, I’m so sorry!” 

“Don’t be sorry!” you say immediately. “It’s okay. Are you okay?” 

Spencer’s voice is a little high and fast, but beside that, he has a nice tenor. When he’s calm and feeling up to it, alone at night with nothing else to do, he’ll read to you from one of his infinite books, his syllables catching and tripping over air as you rub your nose into his arm. 

“I’m fine! There was a mixup with some medication at the sanitarium and they realised my mom’s dose of one of her antipsychotics has been charted higher than she was really taking, so she’s been having a hard time, it’s a total mess but I think we have it figured out now. How was bowling?” 

“Spencer, are you sure it’s okay?” 

“It’s fine.” He laughs softly, not a hint of condescension or derision for you, but an emotion you can’t name. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to take so long.” 

“It’s okay.” 

“I mean, it’s fine if it’s not okay. I know you can’t help yourself sometimes, but you don’t have to tell me it’s fine if it’s not fine.” 

“Uh–” You cough around it. “No, it really is. You can’t help it. Family is important, right?” 

“It’s so important. Listen, where are you right now?” 

“I’m just standing outside of the Pasta Factory by the bowling alley. I tried to have dinner ‘cos I’m starving, but… I think I lost my appetite.” 

“What? Are you okay?” 

“I’m having one of those days, I guess?”

“What kind of day?” 

His voice is bouncing strangely, as though he’s talking near you. You pause, turning on your heel to look down the few stairs into the parking lot asphalt. 

Spencer’s walking up them, a bouquet of roses in his hands. 

“Hi,” you say, the phone still pressed to your ear. 

Spencer puts his away. “Hi. 

His hug is full, all-encompassing and warm as he wraps his arms around you, the bouquet a cacophony of crinkling against your shoulder. He smells like aftershave, his Tom Ford one with the woody tinge that has you pressing your nose into the top of his shoulder to just breathe. Your phone digs into his spine. He doesn’t say anything about it. 

“Hey,” he says softly, giving you a similar swaying, back and forth. “I’m sorry I’m late, I had to call them, but it wasn’t fair on you.” 

“Spencer,” you say, holding him tightly. “You’re my boyfriend.” 

“Don’t sound so unsure.” 

“No, but. We can be flexible, right?” 

“Of course we can, but I’m still sorry.” He peels back to smile at you, his eyes gently squinted. “So what’s wrong? What’s making it one of those days?” 

You can’t explain it to him. He likely doesn’t need you to. 

You’re expecting him to pull away —you’re in a public place and affection isn’t his usual expertise— but he doubles down. New boyfriend or not, this hug feels like it’s from somebody who’s loved you for years and years. 

“What’s making it a bad day?” he asks quietly. 

“I don’t know…” You rub your nose self indulgently against his shoulder. 

“Are you sure you have no appetite? Maybe that’s what it is? Stuff tends to feel bigger or more upsetting when we’re hungry because low blood sugar prompts your body to release more hormones that affect your cortisol level, and cortisol plays a big part in how your mind interprets your emotions.” Spencer pulls away, his hand sliding up your shoulder to hold you in place. He grins. “So I think you should still let me take you to dinner. Especially if you didn’t eat much.” 

Why would Spencer lie to you? you think, relieved. He wouldn’t. And the idea that he’s going to get sick of you, that’s rooted in bad lessons from a poor situation. It’s not a reflection on you. 

“We will,” you decide, “I just have to get my stuff. I left my bag, and Jack’s writing me a list.” 

“What list?” 

“A list of stuff I’m good at.” 

He doesn’t waver. “Really? Can I add stuff too?” You turn your nose up in an unsubtle prompting, satisfied when Spencer gives you a quick, smiling kiss. “Sorry,” he says, though his apology is distracted by a fond undertone, “I missed you.” 

You receive a few more gentle kisses for all your worries, and you begin to feel better. Spencer presses the roses into your hand and encourages you into the restaurant with his hand spread behind your back.