#my best friend my partner in crime. we will fight together until one of us fall (ophelia)

[deathofacupid]

stupid | jake peralta

a/n: apparently gina's character has haters...

summary: he's an idiot, and you can't help but worry for him.

warnings: cursing, petty y/n (sorry in advance)

pairing: fem!reader x jake peralta (enemies but lovers)

word count: 2.5k+ words

"no, because you're an idiot!"

"i had him!" jake argues back. look at him, thinking he's all smart and crap.

"you quite literally did not," you throw your hands up, exasperated, "he would've blown off your head!"

"he wouldn't have! i would've talked him down!"

"oh, yeah, because you're just so charming," your voice oozes with sarcasm.

"i'll have you know that i am, in fact, quite charming."

"i don't want to even know what your definition of charming is."

"it's-"

"i said i don't want to know. and that's not even the point. how did we get here?"

"because you claimed-"

"it was rhetorical! the point is that you were being stupid and reckless!"

"what about you? is there, like, no trust in this relationship? fine, i might've been a little... but- but it doesn't matter! i could've got him! he wouldn't have shot me."

"yes, he-"

"nuh-uh!"

"yeah!"

"nu-"

"look, peralta. for once in your life, think with your head, not your junk."

he paused, squinting an eye, "uh, spontaneousness is... hot?"

"having my partner bleeding out on the ground, and i hate to break it to you, is not hot."

"subjective."

"it's really not."

"that's also subjective."

"what's also subjective?"

"your opinion on the subjectiveness is subjective, 'kay?"

you pinch the bridge of your nose. "jacob-"

"'jacob'?" he whines. "that's never good."

"-it's not even about your stupid, rash decisions. i'm your partner for this case. you can't just- just go off without me. we work together, you know that. storming into an active crime scene - mind you, with armed shooters-"

"well, if they're shooter, aren't they already armed?"

you give him a look (the millionth one that day). "jake, i am not kidding. and honestly, you shouldn't be either. this whole," you vaugely gesture to him, "childish personality was cute at first, but i'm getting real damn sick of it. grow. up. everyone already has. it's your turn," you jab him in the chest with your finger, jaw clenched.

"okay, wait, so it's not hot?" he calls to you as you storm out. he wasn't really expecting an answer, but jake was disappointed anyways.

you do your best to avoid him the rest of the week, and yes, the silent treatment is petty, but he needs to know you're being legit about this. otherwise, he'll never get it.

you don't want him to get over-confident and pull crap like that. up until now, someone's always had his back.

but what if one day, they just don't?

"mm, i'm thinking there's a little trouble in paradise," gina says, pointing at you, then jake from across the bar.

another case had just been solved, and it was a big one. and who doesn't like to get shit-faced drunk?

not many people, actually.

and, hey, maybe this is what you need. a chance to loosen up, and just for once, not think about that fight.

a chance to loosen up by sulking alone is what you mean, not gina prodding you about your relationship problems.

"okay, well, you go take that big brain of yours and think somewhere else."

"or - and hear me out - you tell me what's going on. i think we should go with the latter."

you sigh, is there any way you're getting out of this? you peer over her shoulder, trying to find amy.

"it's no use, my friend," she says, "we are offically on drink three amy."

"aw, man." from past experience, third drink amy was not helpful amy. you think you like helpful amy better.

much, much better.

especially now.

"now, spilll."

"ugh, fine," you say, as you down another two shots. if you're gonna talk about this, you're gonna need some background help.

"ooh, and she's going down from there," gina whispers.

"jake was being stupid, i got mad at jake for being stupid, jake is mad at me - because, and get this, he thinks i'm the stupid one!" you scoff, "i mean, come on! like, sorry i saved your ass, my bad. won't happen again!"

when you look over at him, he's talking with terry. completely unaffected! it's like, how dare he.

"oh, my god. gina, do you see that? look. at. him." he's laughing with terry and charles, as if nothing ever happened. you did not spend an entire week being petty for nothing.

you grind your teeth and turn back to the bar.

"i'll be honest with you, i have a feeling he doesn't realize you're mad at him."

"i've been avoiding him... all week."

"uh, you might have to step up your game."

"or don't do that," rosa says from beside you, making you jump.

"when did you even get here?" you splutter.

"i'm a good cop."

"or just a really scary ninja," you mutter.

gina tilts her head, "yeah, but if you're over here, who's watching amy?"

rosa blinks, "jake, i guess."

you've never almost snapped your neck that hard. you narrow your eyebrows, "four drink amy."

"is she..." gina pauses, "dirty-talking him?"

"she's drunk," rosa reminds you, to which you nod. "yeah, duh, of course. i can see that. um, very well."

gina cackles, "now, it's how jake responds - that's what matters."

"this is the saddest thing thing i've seen all day."

you shoo her, not looking her direction, "shhh, rosie." she swats your hand away, but you're too busy to notice.

"y/n, he's literally getting her water."

"damn him for being such a gentleman," you mutter.

"jake? gentleman? isn't his sense of humor literally just poop jokes?" you ignore gina's remark too.

you watch charles gently guide amy to a booth in the back, and then your attention is back on jake.

jake and the hot blonde beside him.

gina nods, "and the plot thickens."

"god," you scowl, "look at her with her prada. i hate rich people."

diaz snorts, "think you might be projecting there?"

"definitely," you tell her.

"it looks like small talk, y/n."

"who's side you on, diaz?"

she puts her hands up in mock surrender. "no one's. i'm just doing you a favor by not feeding into your delusions."

"where's sober amy when you need her?" you groan.

"what would you need her for?"

"lip-reading, duh."

"...right," rosa blinks.

you whine, "holdling grudges are so hard."

"they really aren't," diaz shrugs.

"why can't he just be not dumb? do you know how much easier that would make my life. hint: much, much, easier. like, scale out of to ten; 12, easier."

"terry has a wife, right?"

"is that rhetorical? or are you really asking? because he never shuts up about his wife and kids."

"do you think-" you start.

"that he could help you figure out what's happening between the two of you?" a deeper voice says.

"god!" you exclaim, "you guys just come out of nowhere!"

"well, terry would love to help you."

"okay, first, i was gonna say 'help me by talking sense into him', not have a couple's counseling."

"i think you should talk to him," terry says.

"no, no, you should talk to him. he totally started this."

"what happened?"

you frown, "n-"

"nothing is not a valid answer. because, trust me, everyone at the precinct know it's something."

"everyone?" you squeak.

"everyone," he confirms.

"i second that," rosa adds, "you guys are normally on top of each other."

"...yeah," gina winces, recalling the storage room incident.

"you really think i should just talk to him?"

"i do."

you tug your bottom lip between your teeth, debating this. "i just... i feel like if i talk to him... he'll automatically think i'm okay with it. like i'm letting it go or something."

terry gives you one of those looks, "maybe that's why you should talk to him."

you pause for a moment longer, before deciding he's right.

ignoring him has done nothing, which is the opposite of what you're intent was. you want everything to be okay again, so maybe the silent treatment isn't the right thing.

you have to try somthing else.

and, by the looks of it, it's talking to him.

you slid off the barstool, playing with the end of your hair as you approach him.

maybe if you'd gotten up a little earlier, as his girlfriend, that stupid blonde wouldn't think it was okay to shamelessly flirt with him. you raise an eyebrow as she rest a hand on his bicep, and he does nothing to stop her.

does he not realize she's clearly feeling him up?

you turn back to your small group of friend, giving them a look that says "what now?".

before any of them can respond, someone taps your shoulder. "jesus! what's with scaring the shit out of me today?"

you except it to be hitchcock or scully so you can let some hot air out by screaming at them. it is not in fact either of those to.

standing in front of you is the literal definition of tall, dark, and handsome. "i'm a good cop!" you blurt.

"sorry if i startled you," oh god, he's british too.

if you weren't dating jake, you'd be all over this guy. but honestly, he doesn't hold a candle to your boyfriend.

but... does he know that?

you put on a polite smile as you shake your head. "no, i'm all good."

"cool, then," he remarks, leaning against the slab of the bar. okay, okay, slick. "one kamikaze, please." the man turns to look at you, "mind if i get you something?"

"sure," you brush a strand of hair behind your ear. "i'll have..." you scrunch up your nose, "the same thing."

"it's a margarita. just vodka instead."

"pft, i knew that."

he laughs, and it feels so... practiced. like he's done it a thousand times before, nothing but for stage presence. your eyes flit over him, and by his watch, you can tell that just might be the case.

"vincent, by the way." man, rich person name too.

"y/n," you say, shaking his hand. "nice to meet you."

"wow, pretty name for a pretty girl."

you pretend to giggle, squeezing his arm gently. how cliched was that line?

"you're so sweet." you can see jake seething at vincent, and you give him nothing but a petty look.

his attention is clearly not on the girl anymore, and it's just the way you like it.

you decide to indulge in this further, "where you from, pretty boy?" wait, was that too much? too late.

he chuckles, "london, sweets."

"oh, wow. what're you doing all the way over here?"

"ah, just work things."

"really? what's your job?"

"v.p. for a finance company. you?"

"nypd," you say.

"interesting."

you blink, "why?"

"i just- well, you don't see too many female cops. it's more of a... male-dominated thing, you know? and for good reason, i bet," he laughs like it's this insanely funny thing, and you follow along.

"hey, baby," jake comes up beside you, arm around your waist.

"oh, so now i'm 'baby'."

vincent looks from you to him, then back at you.

"you've always been 'baby'!"

"have i? because you looked like you forgot that, over with that blondie."

"are you serious? i wasn't even-"

"great," vincent mutters.

"she's was flirting with you!"

"she really wasn't!"

you give him a look. "okay, so maybe she was, but i swear i didn't know. like, she asked me about that dimond heist! and it's the coolest story to tell!"

"c'mon, you really didn't know? you always know!"

"what's that supposed to mean?"

"it means you can't keep it in your pants and, for some reason, you're proud of it!"

"what about you? you, and i know for a fact, were all giggly with this guy!"

"i think i'll be heading out-"

"don't you dare even move, vinny."

"seriously? vinny?" jake scoffs.

"and i was only over here because i thought you were flirting with her!"

"so it's some stupid, petty, misunderstanding?"

"stupid? oh-ho, you want stupid, jakey? what's stupid is trying to take on an armed criminal while unarmed."

"god, this again? i told you i had it!"

"guys!" you call to rosa and boyle, "enlighten us - him - did jake really 'have it'?"

neither of them respond. in fact, charles finds the rim of his shot glass very interesting.

"that's what i thought," you say, finishing your shot and slamming it down.

you march right out, and it's not until you make it out that you realize you rallied the attention of everyone in there.

a part of you feels really stupid, but another part is just mad. why doesn't he get that his actions have consequences?

"y/n?"

you quickly wipe away your tears.

"go away. i'm going home," you rummage through your purse for keys. you may have forgotten that you drove here.

"no, you're not. you're intoxinated."

"fuck off."

"it would've been so much cooler if you said 'fuck you'."

"wh- oh, my god."

"sorry, sorry! look, you're right. i didn't want to admit it before, but you are."

"because of your hero complex?"

"i don't- oh."

"yeah," you sniff.

"hey," he says, pulling you in for a hug. he smells like jake, like home. not your house, your home. resting his chin on the top of your head, you're tucked into his neck. "i didn't even know she was f-"

"jake, it's not about her. you know that."

he sighs, "i just don't get it. i mean, it's my job. and my job is dangerous."

"yeah, and you're right. the hostage thing was dangerous, but it didn't have to be that dangerous. if you would've given me just two minutes, i would've been there. i could've helped. you didn't need to do all that."

"what if in that two minutes, they hurt someone?"

"they were so obviously busy. they wouldn't have done anything. they were... dumb. and you just wanted to make your 'cool enterance'."

"okay, yeah, that was part of the reason. but i needed you to trust me."

"and i needed you to keep me in the loop. you just went, i mean, i didn't even find out until you were there."

"alright, i'm sorry. but i'm okay. i'll always be, right? because i've got you," he pauses, "that was cute, right?"

you pull away, "i might not always be there. you got lucky! jake, you... you could've died." your voice breaks, and you don't do anything to conceal it.

"aww, hey," he coos, bringing you back in. "i'm... i'm sorry. seriously, i really am. i didn't know you were worried about that. i thought you were just mad at me for keeping you... in the dark, a little."

"of course i was worried, jakey. you're my boyfriend, and i love you. i don't- i don't know what i'd do if you died out there. so, maybe in hindsight, dating my co-worker wasn't a good a idea."

"i'll be more careful from now on, i promise. it won't happen again," jake finishes, kissing your forehead. "and i love you too."

"okay," you sigh, content.

"does this mean we can have hot, angsty make-up sex?"

"why would it be angsty?"

"is that a no?"

ask to be added to the jake peralta tag-list!

[shelbgrey]

Dating Dean Winchester Headcanons:

Paring: Dean winchester x Singer!Reader

Summary: just some headcanons about Dean dating Bobby Singer's niece. -NSFW content warring.

A/n: the winner of the latest poll, there will be a new one up next week. I was so excited and suprised on how many people did the poll, my first one only had six and the latest one had over 100.

❤️Mood board ❤️MasterList

Being Dean's girlfriend isn't always easy, but you get through it. So let's talk about it.

There was always something between you guys, but with your choice of life there was always something in the way.

You two practically grew up together, with Bobby being your uncle and John being his father you two were always around each other.

I think Dean also had a slight fear of Bobby, you were his niece and your practly his daughter.

Bobby wasn't clueless, he saw the way you two looked at each other. He wanted to kick Dean's teeth out, he's extremely over protective. Bobby also knew if anyone would keep you safe it wold be Dean.

“I know you'll take care of her”

On a side note, Bobby refuse to call you 'idjit'

The last thing he's said before he died was, “take care of my girl.. You idjits”

Anyway, Even if you two kept denying it or if your just clueless, everyone would know.

Other than Sam and Cas, your the only one he 100% trusts you. He'd trusts you with his life and your his partner in crime.

What makes your relationship stronger is that you started off as best friends and allies.

You always thought you were losing him, he would always have one night stands and there was Lisa. Of course they ment nothing to him, he just thought he'd never be good enough for you.

He thought you deserved better. “I'm not what you need...you deserve better”

That was the first time you opened your heart out to him, but he put his walls up. The he pretended like nothing happened... Until you went on one particularly hard hunt.

Everything was happing so fast thst neither one of you remember that night. There was blood everywhere and Dean did everything he could to save you, Castile healed you and Dean confessed something he's been wanting to since he was 18.

“I love you... Please don't leave me, I can't lose you”

Since everything moves fast in your lives you both decided to take things slow. Dispite his rugged appearance he's nothing but a gentleman to you.

He's extremely over protective of you, to the point hunts with him got annoying.

“I'm not some damsley in distress, Dean!”

He knows what a badass you are and he knows you can hold your own, but he can't help but be your shield.

That's really the only times you fight, your both very reckless and laugh in the face of danger. You guys stress each other out on hunts.

But, lets get to the good stuff now.

Your the only other person who can drive the impala, you'd rather just have him driving with you setting with him.

You guys love the same music, so your always singing on the top of your longs to old rock songs. Your guys song is Angel Eyes by The Jeff Healey Band.

You always have to be sleeping next to each other to get a goods night rest, even when you weren't together you two shared a bed in the old motels.

Dean refuses to sleep unless you have fallen asleep first, he just needs to know your okay before he can have a good night sleep.

You bake the best pies in his opinion and Sam loves your homemade salsa.

When you guys moved into the bunker you guys made great use of the kitchen, Sam loves your guys cooking.

Speaking of Sam, he's one of your best friends. Cas is your first, but you and Sam have a long history together. You were even the first one to hear he got accepted into college.

We know Cas is like the Winchesters gardian angel, well Gabriel is yours.

About three years into yours and Dean's relationship you broke up, it was around the time Sam went to hell and you guys just pushed each other away.

Gabe knew you guys loved each other, so he worked really hard to get you back together. He did succeed.

You guys might argue about the little things, but he always know how to make them better.

You guys just like staying in and watching movies or Scooby-Doo. You guys love cuddling up in the Dean cave and just ignore the world for a few hours.

He loves cuddles, if your in bed or on the couch he needs to be holding you. He loves it when he's laying in bed and your lying on top of his chest.

He also loves it when you hold him, maybe after a rough hunt he'll love just rest his head on your chest while you play with his hair.

You love just being in his arms, there's no feeling better than that. He loves snaking his arms around you and resting his chin on your head because he just really needs to being close to you.

He's really just a big ol' teddy bear.

He's a rough kisser, he's way taller than you so usually he hold your chin between his fingers and lift for head up to kiss you.

There's a lot of neck and forehead kisses being handed out by this man. He loves wrapping his arms around you from behind and just trail soft kisses down your neck.

He also loves it when you kiss his forehead. It just a small, loving gesture he absolutely loves.

If your cold you'll steal his flannels or his jackets, he had this black and red flannel that he now only sees if your wearing it.

when ever your busy doing research Dean always deliver a tiny kiss on your forehead. He'd just be walking by and he'll give you a quick kiss just to make you blush.

He's good a making you blush, he thinks it's adorable.

Trust is a big part of your relationship, you both had opened up about the abuse your fathers and dumped on you. That was the reason Bobby took you in, he could bare you being in the type of environment he grew up in.

With that Dean made a promise to never hurt or scare you. He refuses to lay a hurtful hand on you. It'll break his heart if you flinch away from him during an argument.

As much as you love Dean, demon Dean scares the hell out of you. The demon knew this and used it to his advantage. He Dean went back to normal he could barely look into your eyes. He blamed himself for the bruises around your neck the demon caused.

“I promised you I'd never hurt you... I'm so sorry” he said. “it's not your fault”

On a more positive side... You guys have lots of nicknames. You call him Deano or bub and he calls you just about anything but your actual name, Sweetheart is your favorite.

And with FBI names, you take a different approach. While he uses rock aliases you use actor or fictional names.

“agent Sweets, really?” he said playfully. “What? I like the show Bones”

Your like a mother to Claire, she loves you so much and your the only person she trusts other than Jody and the boys.

Speaking of Jody, she took you under her wing immediately. You never had a mother growing up so it was a relief to have her in your life.

You become a mother to Jack too, and your relationship hit a really bumpy road during that time. You hated how Dean treated Jack and it always turned into a fight.

“if you touch him, I swear to God, Dean!”

Den didn't want to be like his father and after awhile Dean's shell broke and he started to grow a soft spot for him, after your lives calmed down you both did end up adopting Jack.

But to legally do that you had to get married. You both wanted to get married so bad, but with your lives you never got the chance.

You weren't gonna get a white wedding, you knew that and Dean thought the Cort house wasn't good enough. So you got married in the church of Elvis in Las Vegas.

NSFW headcanons:

Dean prefers being on top and being the one in control.

He'll mark your thighs with his teeth and biting hard enough to leave a light bruise.

Loves eating you out,your legs around his head. He loves your legs in general and loves leaving kisses on the insides of your thighs. He'd rather pleasure you for hours than receive.

Hair pulling, he loves feeling your fingers in his hair or he'll tangel his fingers in yours and tug on it when he's getting head or about ready to cum.

Bondeg kink, ropes, his ties, belts, he'll tie you up with anything if your comfortable with it.

definitely a fan of overstimulation, he loves the way that your body twitches and you whimper from his touch.

car sex! All the way. loves to take you in the back of the impala, loving the way the windows fog up and the small area gets loud with the noises you make.

He's a soft/mean Dom, it just depends on his mood. But no matter what he always makes sure your comfortable. He loves to take control in the bed but would never push you.

He would really get off on marking you up. He didn’t think he would, as it wasn’t something he thought too much about but when he did it there was no turning back.

He definitely has a Praise kink too, he loves making you feel loved and appreciated. He love how he can easily make you blush. “your so Beautiful”

“you feel so amazing Sweetheart”

He loves hearing you moan. If you try to hold back or even muffle them when it's unnecessary, he'd put an end to it. “don't hold back, let me hear your voice”

He has big chocking kink, he won't be too rough about but he loves wrapping his fingers around your neck and feeling your pulse when he's ramming into you.

This man is amazing when it comes to aftercare. He knows exactly what you need. After your both cleaned up, he'll pull you to his chest to cuddle.

[huntingrays]

Random, quick Spider-Man Leo and ex-boyfriend Jason drabble

Back when they were dating, Leo used to tell him that if he ever had a question – no matter how strange – that Reddit would be able to help him. He would tell him about the countless times he would look up the oddest question and find a Reddit post from years ago asking the same question. He said Reddit was an awful hell site (like most social media websites) but that they were good at answering questions and giving wild, unsolicited opinions (like most social media websites).

Taking in his current situation, Jason wasn’t sure if anyone could give him solid advice for what to do – let alone Reddit of all places.

How would he even phrase his situation?

My ex-boyfriend showed up half-dead at my apartment, what do I do?

So I (25M) used to date this guy (25M). We were high school sweethearts. We were best friends that became more. I thought we would spend our whole lives together. We had a great relationship until he started acting weird a year into our relationship.

When I confronted him about it, he brushed off my concerns and said I was imagining things. However, his weird behavior kept up. He would be tired during the day, suddenly cancel our dates last minute, forget plans with friends, act weirdly secretive, and so many other things. Despite how weird he was acting, I never thought he was cheating on me. Despite his behavior, he was never someone who struck me as a cheater. He’s always been a very honest, loyal man throughout our friendship.

I ended up finding out the truth behind his behavior on a night like this one. I had shown up to my place after hanging out with friends after finals. When I walked into my bedroom, I saw my boyfriend lying half-dead on my bed, bleeding all over my sheets. As if the night couldn’t get any crazier, the outfit I found him in wasn’t his usual attire but was the suit of our friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. So, instead of my boyfriend being a cheating, shitty boyfriend, he was a web-slinging, crime-fighting vigilante with funny quips and a heart of gold.

So, like any good boyfriend would, I panicked before patching him up. After that, we had a serious talk and decided we would try to make things work with the whole superhero thing.

Things were good until a year later. By then, we got reckless and some villains found out about my connection to him. After that, we had a close run where I got taken and almost got seriously hurt. After that, my now ex broke up with me for my own safety and because he felt I deserved a better, more attentive partner.

Despite our breakup, I never stopped loving him. I tried to move on and date other people but nothing stuck. We kept our same friend groups but I haven’t really seen or spoken to him since our breakup.

So, it was a huge shock when I was attempting to cook myself dinner when I heard the sound of someone entering my apartment through my window. I rushed out of my kitchen, knife in hand, but instead of seeing a burglar, it was my ex-boyfriend who looked on the verge of death. He had his mask off and told me he “didn’t know where else to go” before passing out in my arms.

So, now I’m at a loss. I obviously will heal him and patch him up, but where do we go after this? Does this mean anything? Does this sound normal to anyone else? Is this classic vigilante ex behavior? Or is this simply because we share history?

Yeah, no. If Jason posted that, the people there would call him a troll. Nobody would take him seriously.

So, he wasn’t sure who to turn to. All his friends had differing opinions on his relationship with Leo (mainly since only Piper knew Leo’s secret identity). He wasn’t sure where they might go after this or what he even wanted.

With a sigh, he looked down at the man passed out in his arms. It was still strange to think of the guy he knew and loved dearly as a superhero. Back when they were kids and played pretend, Jason was the hero and Leo was the guy in the chair who helped him out and made all his fancy gadgets. Now, Jason was his normal ex-boyfriend and Leo was the one saving people and making his own gadgets.

He wasn’t sure what to do, but he did know that he couldn’t lose Leo. He didn't hesitate as he picked up his former lover and carried him to his room. He felt suddenly thankful that he hadn’t thrown out his old kit he’d made to patch up his superhero boyfriend after a rough fight. For now, he would do what he could and then see where all this took them.

[random-meme-bot]

When did you initially come up with your oc's? Like... long has the concept of hexes on the shelves existed in your head? :0

Also, this may be a hard question but do you maybe have any voice headcanons for them? :o

Ok this is actually a hard question to answer, since the actual idea of a duo of character that can see ghost and it's ghost partner started way way back when I was a kid due to a pair of Spanish educational point & click adventure games called "Central de Fantasmas" (ghost central)

While the games are surprisingly high quality for the standars of educational games (the guy voice actor also does Fry in futurama as well as a lot other characters in other shows), all things considered they didn't do much with the ghost idea, so it led to my kid shelf imagining this stories about a duo of characters one human and one ghost, I'll be honest I don't remember anything about them.

A few years back, on 2022 I got really nostalgic for this games and decided to play them (took a while to make them run since these where designed for Windows XP tops) and the memories of me playing came back and through the next days of playing I started again tinkering with the idea of a human/ghost duo, it all clicked when YouTube recomended me the song "All my friends are ghost" by Dib Dooley (the original non music video is older but it's no longer on her channel)

That's the point where my mind gave form to Ely, this parody of a mystery children book protagonist, unlike those who pieced things together out of clues that then would lead them to traping the villan thanks to their quick thinking and resourcefulness, Ely was clumsy, almost always was in the wrong track with her assumptions, and only managed to catch the bad guy at the end and survive fighting against literal crime bosses because of her friend Dan, a grumpy ghost who despite what he says really cares about Ely and makes sure to protect her, all lead to this.

The first ever art of Ely & Dan.

Ely's dressing was roughly inspired by another parody of Kids mystery books, Jenny LeClue, while Dan's was inspired by Gibson from the Webtoon "Greetings from Grisley".

Despite the fact that Jenny doesn't have a hat while Gibson does, the hat actually was originally drawn as part of Elly's design to complement the detective look, then it was given to Dan as it's design looked to simple.

The idea kept going in my head and some questions started to form "Why can Elly see ghosts?" "Why does Dan want to become a writer so bad?" "How does Dan manage to pay the bills with him being a ghost and his book store not making any money?".

That's the point where I decided to actually make a story out of this and started to learn how to use adventure game studio, when I more or less had an understanding of how everything worked and had programed a way to switch between normal Ely & Dan Elly, I realized that I didn't have any sprites or artist abilities, after some days and a bunch of re doing I had the sprite versions that I posted over here.

I decided to park the project for now and develop some art skills moment in which I started to draw other ideas I had (check the art section in my pinned post for more on that).

The Ideas for Ely & Dan keep going in my head evolving until their current version and at that point I just couldn't take it I needed to share them, so I took your advice and decided that even if they weren't going to look the best they could at least they were going to look, and so Elly & Dan were posted.

So yeah, to answer it simply, the concept as we know it today, middle of 2023 more or less, the original concept more or less middle to late 2022, the Original idea 2010 or so...

Also about the second question, I don't, I've tried to come up with voices for them both in English & in Spanish but they always change.

[l-sincline]

Cybernetics Chapter 21

Amy Rose is a mechanic, plain and simple. But aside from that, she feels utterly alone in a cruel world where she makes just enough to scrape by. One night she’s visited by a mysterious Cyborg that needs his arm fixed, little does she know this repair will change her life.

Flung from the confines of her normal life, Amy finds herself working with Anarchists set on creating a new life for themselves and the poor people of Mobius. The only downside? Seeing who she thought was her best friend fight against her.

AO3 Tags:  Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Amy Rose/Shadow the Hedgehog, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Amy Rose (Sonic the Hedgehog), Shadow the Hedgehog, Sonic the Hedgehog, Miles “Tails” Prower, Dr. Eggman | Dr. Robotnik, Rouge the Bat, Whisper the Wolf, Cream the Rabbit, Knuckles the Echidna, Badnik (Sonic the Hedgehog), E-123 Omega, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Angst, Slow Burn, Partners in Crime

AO3 Link

Previous/Next

Their journey home was quiet- both the girls were tired it seemed. The sky was only beginning to darken, and yet Amy felt as if it’d been many days, weeks even, since they’d began their mission. How could so much happen in such a short amount of time?

When they had finally reached base- Amy and Rouge collapsed on the couch together, Rouge melted back into the couch while Amy leaned on her shoulder. It was silent in the base, only the slight hum of the air filter buzzed through the house as it just got darker and darker before Rouge finally spoke. 

“ProjScreen, on.”

The ProjScreen flashed to life, it was on the same gossip channel Rouge always watched but instead of the hosts usual grinning faces there was a pinkish screen with their logo, below were the words ‘Program to return soon!’ 

“Channel seven.” Rouge prompted, and the ProjScreen changed again. 

“-are unsure of where to even begin in this carnage.” A mobian snow leopard spoke seriously to a camera, behind him was a tall apartment building from the inner city. From what Amy could see, one of the rooms seemed to be torn out and smoking- that room singularly destroyed. “Deanerly Deer was the host of Mobian Gossip channel ‘That’s That!’ Alongside the beloved Katerina Katty, who has a few words on the matter now.” 

Both Amy and Rouge were alert now, staring at the ProjScreen with intensity as Katerina’s face came onto screen, clearly some sort of prerecorded video. 

“I know we have our enemies but I can’t for the life of me imagine anyone ever tipping Doctor Robotnik off to Deanerly. He’s truly my best friend and the best cohost a girl could ask for. I’m begging the doctors to make sure he makes it out safe.” The screen swapped back to the news reporter. 

“For those of you just tuning in, that was Katerina Katty on the injury of Deanerly Deer at the hands of Doctor Robotnik. At the moment we have little information on what the Doctor could’ve wanted with Deanerly, all we know is that there was a safe in the penthouse that was clearly broken into. If anyone has any information on-“ 

“ProjScreen off.” Amy’s voice wavered as the screen shut off and she turned slowly to Rouge. “…What are the chances I accidentally led the Doctor to a chip?” 

Rouge looked just as surprised as she stared back at Amy. 

“I don’t know. I think only time will tell.” 

Amy groaned and sunk back into the couch. Things were about to get more complicated, and she was ready for a long nights sleep to compensate for all the energy she’d used today. So no matter how stressful this all was, she’d have to sit and think about it until she was more alert. 

-

When she woke the next morning the base was just about as quiet as it always was. Heading downstairs, Shadow stood diligently at the island, staring at some sort of hologram map that was projected from a small, black rectangle. As her feet landed on the ground he looked up, reaching out and grabbing the rectangle as the hologram disappeared, he shoved it into a pocket. 

“What was that?” She asked. 

“A map. Blaze gave it to me, it’s got a bunch of their potential targets on it.” 

“Oh.” She responded, “Silver settled in alright?” 

“After he finished pestering me with all his questions, yeah. Blaze seemed grateful to have him.” 

“You saw the news? About Deanerly and the doctor?” She finally asked. 

“Yeah.” Shadow sighed, moving from his spot at the island to let Amy get into the kitchen to get breakfast. “No word on anything yet. Blaze has some people snooping around but…” 

“But we’ll have to wait and see?” 

“Yeah.”

“I hate waiting.” She muttered under her breath before opening the fridge to rummage around. 

“Well, there’s nothing else we can do about it now. Blaze started giving out the stuff we got, I made sure I directed her towards your area. Just work on your stuff in the meantime. Robotnik isn’t one for subtlety, if he has that chip we’re going to know about it sooner rather than later.” 

“I know, you’re right. I just hate not being able to plan.” She agreed. 

Settling on some toast, she whipped it up quickly and ate even quicker before heading up the stairs and back into the workroom. It was just as she’d left it. Some tools out on the desk, everything relatively where it should be. She headed over to the corner and yanked the sheet off of Omega that she’d put there before leaving. 

“Well bud, todays the day. Let’s get you back up and running.”

Omega was hard work. Perhaps that’s why it’d taken her so long to finally commit to finishing him. He was an old… old model. Clearly some sort of Eggman bot repurposed, but not one she’d ever seen before. The Eggman bots she was used to were sleek, modern. White, black, and red. This was a chunky old thing, angular and dopey looking- red, black, and silver. Nonetheless, he seemed particularly important to Rouge, and important to Shadow as well, so she continued to work. 

The other part of him that was perhaps a bit frustrating was just how large he was. Amy found herself stepping up and down her chair quite often. With such a large chest cavity, the wires and components were scattered around every level. 

After a few hours she grunted and struggled with putting the chest piece back on. It eventually clicked into place and she sat back with a huff, sliding the chair away from the robot and looking up at it. She sighed heavily, wiping the sweat from her forehead and tossing a hammer back to the work table. Amy looked up at the robot with tired- but excited- eyes. 

“Omega.” She said his name as if she was testing it. She paused, half expecting it to turn on- but it didn’t. Older model, of course. “Let’s see how you do, then.” 

Amy stood and brought the chair up in front of him again, standing on top of it. Carefully, she reached under the lip of his head and wiggled her fingers until she found the obscured button. She pressed it, and his eyes glowed to life. 

She smiled as he turned on and scanned the room and made it to her. 

But soon grimaced as he spoke.

“Intruder alert.” Was all he said before his gun hand raised towards her.

“No! No intruder!” She cried out, but it was in vain. Amy fell backwards as she heard the blaster whir to life, missing the shot as she fell from the chair to the floor. “Rouge!” She cried, “Shadow!”

“Intruder alert.” Omega repeated, stepping towards her.

Amy yelped and scrambled to her feet to dodge another blast, managing to trip again as she grabbed the chair- as if that was going to do anything. Rouge came flying up the stairs, eyes wide- Shadow bounding up after her.

“Omega!” Rouge shouted, “Stop! False alarm!”

Omega’s stance changed to a more casual one as he lowered his arm, looking to Rouge after her command. 

“Up.” Shadow demanded as he leaned down and scooped Amy to her feet by her armpits. She dropped the chair. 

“Omega…” Rouge smiled in relief, leaping forward to give the big robot a hug.

“It’s good to have you back, bud.” Shadow nodded.

“What happened to the Eggman Base?” Omega asked, turning to Shadow as Rouge backed up.

“Destroyed, we got away safely thanks to you.” 

“I totally would’ve lost my head if you hadn’t shielded me.” Rouge affirms, “Thanks, Omega.” 

“This is Amy Rose,” Shadow gestured to Amy, who stood next to him, “not an intruder. She fixed you, she works with us now.” 

Omega stared at her for a moment, and then beeped. 

“Scan complete. Amy Rose recognized as member of team.” He held out his other, metal clawed hand, “Pleasure to meet you, Amy.”

She smiled gently, there was a sense of pride that her work had fixed their MIA teammate, and she shook his hand carefully.

“The pleasure is all mine.” 

[basicallyjaywalker]

Does any of your Ninja ocs have elements?

What season are they introduced?

What are their relationships like with the ninja?

Good evening anon! Happy to answer :DD Putting it under the cut bc these tend to get. long

Most of my main OCs have elements! There are three (Willow, Jonathan, and Kyle, though the latter changes as of DR) who don't but otherwise we have

Nataly, Master of Love

Roxie, Master of Peace

Jasmine, Master of Nature (not related to Bolobo)

Jackie, Master of Magic

Hannah, Master of Music

Luna, Master of Dreams

Ivy, Master of Wind

And Master Twyla, Master of Light! (Not related to Paleman)

Their introductions are scattered throughout the seasons, but the basic breakdown is

S2: Jackie is introduced as a member of Garmadon's Stone Warrior Army who's a human. At the end of that season, she's pulled out of the rubble of a building and goes to study with Garmadon

S3: Jasmine is semi-introduced as a background character at Borg Industries, though she's not plot relevant yet. Jonathan is introduced as Borg's son but also isn't super plot relevant yet, he has his own adventure which is technically where we meet Willow

S4: Roxie, Nataly, Hannah, and Kyle are all introducing on the boat ride to Chen's, as well as Jackie and Jasmine. Roxie knows Cole from Marty Oppenheimer's, Lloyd and Garmadon recognize Jackie (who between S3 and S4 started studying under Master Twyla, a former friend of Garmadon's, as well), and everyone kind of recognizes Jasmine as someone from Borg Industries. At the end of the season, Twyla joins the EMs in the Corridor of Elders to fight. Prior to this she's only been mentioned by her students and a little by Garmadon

S5: Ivy is introduced when the ninja go to Ronin's pawn shop! She's Ronin's partner in crime and while she's there she and Nya form a strong bond too (daughters of Wojira my beloved)

No one is introduced in S6 or S7 really

S8: Luna is introduced by Harumi during Garmadon's resurrection. After it's presumed failure, she's taken to go stay with the Ninja

Another skip

S15: putting Willow here too bc this is when she's introduced to the Ninja at large during the fight with the Overlord 3.0. until now she's been chilling in the woods with occasional visits from Jonathan

Ofc having all of the relationships would be a bit messy but her are the basic breakdowns:

Nataly: she and Kai have a pretty close bond, partially forged on annoying the shit out of each other. Similarly, she and Lloyd bond a lot over complicated family situations (Nataly is Pythors's daughter, if that tells you anything) and also an innate sense of whimsy. Her related w the other ninja is pretty good! Aside from various pranks she's pulled on them

Roxie: she and Cole are really close and used to be best friends at Marty Oppenheimer's! I've made a post about their friendship before and if I can find it later I'll link it. She's also really close w Nya and I personally believe they have 3am conversations about femininity and womanhood that look like that one painting of Aristotle and the other guy. Gender studies minors after an exhaustive study sesh type jazz

Jasmine: uh. Complicated. She gets along great w Nya and Jay for a while due to a shared love of mechanics and inventing but she develops some more complicated feelings that lead to her shooting those relationships in the foot. She also discovers in S8 that she's Julien's daughter and thus Zane's sister but there is a veil of family drama over that entire thing, so that relationship barely manifests and becomes tense even after Zane finds out. She and Pixal get along amazing though. There's been no time to ruin that.

Jackie: she's probably the second closest to most of the ninja, but particularly Kai, Nya, and Lloyd. She and Kai are kinda like siblings. Often if a situation is full of Some Bullshit, they'll exchange a glance before diving in. They're like a pair in a buddy cop movie. Her and Nya are training together and I think would get along well by virtue of being insane tryhards. Her and Lloyd are really close after S4 and are the partners in crime to her and Kai's buddy cop movie. She develops a crush on him around the Oni Trilogy, but doesn't act on it because well. Oni Trilogy events. He starts reciprocating around the post-S11 pre-S12 era but they don't do anything about it til undetermined time (probably sometime pre-Seabound or post-Crystallized, they are definitely officially a couple as of Dragons Rising).

Hannah: Keeps to herself and her team but she and Cole get along pretty well. They share an appreciation for music, though she's a performer and Cole's not, so they mostly talk about artists they enjoy and he might help her hash them of her own work out. They're chill friends. She has this semi-antagonistic, semi-they just like to talk shit with each other, relationship with Kai. She's very tempermental and likes to call out his antics. Kai thinks it's kinda funny when she's mad about dumb shit so he purposefully pushes her buttons. It's like rats play wrestling. She and Kai and Skylor are in a triad (she's in a romantic relationship w Kai and a QPR with Skylor, Skylor and Kai are also in a romantic relationship) post-Crystallized. I would go into her relationship w/ Skylor bc there's a lot of backstory there, but this post is long enough as is.

Kyle: Mostly hangs around Jay and Cole. Third wheeling. He referees their Face2Fist matches to make sure no one is cheating. They're like... bros is the best way I can describe it. He and Kai are also pretty amicable on account of both getting the Older Brother Special Edition experience (orphans) and Kai hangs around Chen's, where Kyle works bc he and Skylor are actually besties

Luna: Her and Jay are nerding out over comics something fierce. I think she and him would host Jackbox nights for the team to boost morale too. She and Lloyd have a semi-tense relationship at first bc of the circumstances of their reunion but post-S10 they have a very "one is doing something very impulsive and stupid and the other is egging them on" sibling relationship. She would get him back into comics and also they'd do pinball tournaments at arcades that aren't about winning just about beating each other

Ivy: is kind of peripheral, but she and Nya get really close during S5 and stay in contact. They sit on the edge of a creek and skip stones while talking about random shit. Ivy brings her scrap for projects and Nya has to side eye her like "did you steal this" and Ivy never gives her a straight answer. I think she and Cole would get along too, funnily enough. They're just similar enough in their defiant rebellion that I think they could hold a respect for each other that manifests in sitting in the same room, quietly, working on projects and occasionally helping each other out. Ivy and Lloyd have a bond over bitching about Morro.

Jonathan: he and cole are vibing in a room together except Jonathan has no idea how to talk to him and so is nervously making small talk. Cole thinks he's neat and likes to hear him ramble about the various mechanical projects he's working on. They'd also bond about their dads. Jonathan feels like he has to live up to the Borg name and make his father proud (he already has, but anxiety's a bitch) and Cole gets that. He and Pixal are also practically siblings and are tight as hell. Between S7 and S8 he was def helping her w her Samurai X stuff.

Willow: she actually doesn't have relationships with the ninja! As said she's kind of a peripheral character who only interacts with Jonathan and her characterization and story rests within that bubble. If I were to let her out I think she and Wu actually would get along the best, which is a cop out, but there's something about feeling like the fate of the world is upon your shoulders and one wrong step will cause everything to come crashing that makes a silent shared cup of tea the most meaningful interaction you might ever have

Master Twyla: she's closer to Misako and Wu by virtue of those being her friends and comrades before, but I think she views the ninja as like. peripheral students. she's not their teacher and doesn't act like it but those are her kids in the same way the others are yk? She would see their parents in them but also feels a sense of pride at their own strengths and is happy to be someone they can talk to. I think she'd have a particular soft spot for Lloyd because she was closer to the Spin Bros and Misako so in another life that's her godchild

Thank you again for your question! I am so sorry this is so long! But this absolutely made my day to answer!

[gracethruwords]

My dear sibling who was never born, I'm writing to you again. I know it's been so long. I haven't felt the need to write to you, for years now. When I was a little child I loved mom and dad's undivided attention. I did not feel like anything was missing with all the love, until I was six and I had no one to play with. Then I wondered how it could've been if you were there with me. Would we fight? Would we argue? Would we break each other's toys? Would you eat my chocolate and steal my stuff? Would you be two years older than me or nine years younger? Would we grow up to be best friends or hate each other? I often wondered. I missed you the most when I saw others playing with their siblings and yet at the end of the day having each other. "you're so privileged, all siblings do is fight" well i guess it would've been better. But I accepted it and I really love being an only child, but sometimes I feel how it would've been with you by my side. Would I feel less alone? Would you be my confidant or spill all my secrets to our parents? But despite it all you'd love me right? You'd beat those guys to pulp who flirted with me at school, I'd end up being single all my life. But you'd give me a shoulder to cry, right? We'd talk about stupid stuff and you'd scare me in the middle of the night making ghostly sounds. And when I'd have done a mischief I would've blamed you for that. I would get you in trouble but I'd be your partner in crime. We'd figure things out together, wouldn't we? We'd fight each other but kill for each other too and when someone else said something mean to any of us, we'd team up and knock that bustard out. We'd be enemies but best allies. I missed you the most when mom was at the hospital and I was fifteen. I thought it would just have been better, you being with me. I missed you the most on festivals, though mom and dad tried to make them the best, I'd still feel something missing. As I grew up I learned to be okay with it. I love being alone and having all the love just for myself. I love not sharing my chocolate. But still when I think about it I wonder, how different everything would be? If you'd have been here with me.

[huntershowl-moving]

SHE TRIED.

PERSEPHONE DOES THEIR BEST NOT TO conjure images when they are told of things like this. their form of listening is active, present, focused on reading body language and subtle cues — it isn't necessarily about what happened, but how what happened affected them. orion was, is, the opposite. he thinks like an artist, in sweeping imagery and parallels between color and music and mood. somehow, it worked between them.

so she does not visualize the bright-eyed little boy he might have been: it isn't fair to him to speculate, and it would only break her heart.

here, persephone watches izuku's face. watches the tension in his shoulders, his brows, the tug at the corners of his mouth. it's hard not to be struck by the beauty of him in moments like this, when she is hyperaware of every one of his features, but admiration falls to the wayside quickly in favor of something darker, cautious, worried. she tried, but...?

they resist the urge to sigh. getting straight answers out of izuku midoriya is like pulling teeth. every time she presses about one thing, he leaves another thing unsaid, implied, the ghost of a finished thought. it reminds her of fletch, the way every sentence they speak has two, three, four separate meanings — they never expect their conversation partner to catch them all. maybe it's a crime lord thing.

seph doesn't press further this time, but she holds it in the back of her mind like a seed in dry soil. they made a promise. whether or not izuku would call her out if she went back on her word, persephone aisa does not go back on her word. instead, she tries to put together sentences in her head like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, silent as she stares at her steaming bowl, rearranging them over and over again until something makes sense. ❝ now — ❞ a pause. ❝ my end of the bargain. ❞

outside, the first drops of rain begin to patter on the window.

❝ we were picked up by the unseen when we were ten. lived on the streets for a few years before that. ❞ she doesn't mention the home they ran away from. another time. ❝ we knew about the tower, but we didn't meet 'em until we were nineteen — and we'd had enough. this shit was only supposed to be a few odd jobs here and there to keep us fed, and somehow we'd been roped in way too deep. they sent us to UA as spies — i had to balance saving people at school with killing people away from it. then they pulled us out before we could graduate... cut us off from our friends. ❞

she thinks of shouta and hizashi. thinks of them losing oboro, then the twins vanishing off the face of the earth, and the guilt rushes back in just as strong as it always was. ❝ few years later, we'd just... had enough. i didn't want to hurt people anymore. so i convinced ori to escape with me. long story short, stupid plan, the tower found out. kept us awake, ripped my arms off, took his eye. separated us. ❞

the words are brutal, but her tone is not. when you've been killing people since you were ten years old, your view of 'fucked up' shifts just a touch. seph pokes at the untouched bowl with the tip of their spoon. ❝ ori got sent to the OT wing of the hospital, and fletch took me on as a project. recovery with them personally, every step of the way. they helped me relearn everything with the new prosthetics — fighting first, as a reminder that weapons are only as good as their edge. then the rest. ❞

again, there isn't a trace of bitterness in her tone. stranger still, just at the edges, there is a wraithlike drift of reverence to her words. ❝ there's something to be said for being broken down and rebuilt as something new. i owe them everything. ❞

Izuku carries no expectations. It’s easier this way, and whether the story he tells, shall he decide to tell it, brings a shock or a blessed acceptance, or anything else or in between, he can take it as it comes.

Tonight it’s shadows under his eyes that, as they always do, seem too dark to be cast by his eyelashes alone, and a nod. And that something in between that wouldn’t often come; is it because he has never shared a tale as peculiarly intimate, or because of whom he’s told? But then Persephone offers to weave that thread of understanding around their hands, not red or black and definitely not yellow, and it pushes a laugh out of his throat. A snort really, choked out in astonishment for the unreality of this situation and this development as a whole, and the bubble of solemnity breaks.

“Of course I don’t,” the man shakes his head, and the shadow of a portent transform into a mundane, a silhouette of a smile that persists in his tone and on his features. “I lived with my mom, remember?”

The implications can be many, but Occam’s razor demands a reason easiest to accept, and it goes as follows: it was a simple life that Izuku has lived before everything went to shit. A confirmation soon follows: “I went to a normal school, lived in an apartment building… these things,” the villain sums up with a shrug. “But my mother was kind, and she tried to raise me to be kind as well.” And again, there can be more than one conclusion to his words, but this time more than one could be true at the same time. One: Midoriya Inko tried, and she succeeded. Two: she tried but failed. Three: she tried, and… ?

There is an image of a little boy engraved in the back of Izuku’s mind, red, weeping blood, but the pain of a seeping wound is a good thing. It helps him remember. The boy has bright eyes and an even brighter smile, collects cards, and has big dreams. The boy grows up and sadder. The boy jumps off a roof.

The boy is now a grown man, and he sets the chopsticks away to rub at his eyes. “What now?” He asks. It’s nearly conversational, no rush and no prodding at the other. It’s like he said; he doesn’t need to swap stories with Persephone to tell them about his father, but if they want to, he’s all ears whatever they decide to tell him in turn. If they don’t, he can be all silence with them, together.

Together.

[eporea]

Operation: Get Nina a second dad!

“Ophelia, I’m telling you, my father is gay.” She kicked another rock away with her boot. So maybe she wasn’t completely sure if he was into men but from how many stories she’s written, it only feels right to believe it. 

She held a red journal in her hands- full of stories dedicated to her situation. She loved her father. Really, she did but damn to see him with another guy. She practically lost her mind whenever she would watch him talking to other men.

She didn’t like how he looked lonely at times. Even if he always claimed he was fine. She hit her palm with the book before handing it to Ophelia. “Hold that for me- and don’t open it.” She would die of embarrassment if Ophelia read anything in there. 

“I want to help him but I don’t know how...maybe,” She paused before her eyes widened. What if she could help him by finding someone for him. Of course the only issue would be having a conversation with men. Nina couldn’t talk to one without stuttering and Ophelia would scare them all away.

There was only one other person Nina knew who could help- one other person besides Hilda, but she didn’t count. “Ophelia I have the best idea ever but first I need you to meet someone.” She takes the journal out of her hands before grabbing her arm and practically dragging her away. 

They didn’t have to go very far to find who she was looking for. “Hey Patty.” She greets the girl before coming to a stop. She’s a bit out of breath but had so much she wanted- no, needed to say. “I need your help on something but first I want you too meet my best friend, The Great Chosen One, Ophelia Dusk.” She tugs on Ophelia’s arm slightly to pull her forward before continuing. “Ophelia this is one of my friends, Patty- she was on the mission with me.” 

She hated talking about the mission but for introductions it would do. Nina smiled slightly before putting her full attention on Patty. “Anyways- Patty your great at talking to men and I need your help. I want to find my father a lover but I can’t talk to men and I fear Ophelia would scare them off. So, do you want to come with us? It wont take long, probably twenty minutes at most.” That was a lie. Nina was determined to do this and if it took the whole day then so be it.

@sheereccentric

[s1st3r]

Soo... how would the Bad Batch react to a S/O that has a very snarky/dry sense of humor? Just always cracking jokes and finding humor in everything? (Love ur content btw <3)

Thank you for your request!!! And THANK YOU IM GLAD U LIKEY!!!!

Ok I have seen this but knew it would take me hours to write so I was waiting for the write moment! (get it? write = right? teehee) talk about a terribly dry sense of humour my goodness.

How Would The Bad Batch React to a Snarky/Witty/Dry Sense of Humour Significant Other (s/o)

Factz: Not even kidding, I feel like the boys would kill for a hella sassy partner in crime.

Hunter

Oh my gosh they are literally best friends!!! They speak in a very similar style to each other.

Hunter expects a little bit of snark from Cross, sarcasm from Echo, and quips from Tech, but when his s/o just dishes his dry humour right back at him the first time they meet, he's like "Why was that so... hot???"

So from then on, most of the dialogue exchanged between the two of them are like super sassy comments and witty replies, until it unintentionally gradually morphs into really heavy flirting. They get so into teasing each other, the whole batch can feel the tension in the air.

Of course both are oblivious of this for the longest time.

But when eventually they do figure it out and get together, the whole batch sigh in relief thinking "finally this intense pining is over"... But it actually just gets worse?

So now during missions, the two of you verbally dance around each other like you're in some comeback war.

In the middle of a serious mission:

Hunter: "I need you here now!"

S/O: "wow wow Hunter. babe. cool your jets. i know we haven't really done it in a while but we're in the middle of a mission and-"

Hunter: "As much as I love how you think mesh'la, I think you're misreading the situation."

His s/o also keeps ruining his *tough guy* persona. During briefs, his s/o keeps making him crack his skillfully honed poker face.

The teasing through dry humour is just a really fun and goofy way to connect to each other and is their common ground of affection.

Tech

We all know Tech is a witty boi, and man do we love him for it!

Tech finds his s/o's attitude quite entertaining.

He does like it when they use their snarkiness to defend him from people that give him a hard time, but he like his s/o's humour best when it's just the two of them having fun.

I feel like Tech would find it 10x funnier if his s/o was also really smart and able to understand his technical language, because they just pass these really witty/funny quips back and forth to each other that are actually hilarious but no one understands. It's like their own hidden language.

Now we've seen Tech smile and m a y b e chuckle a little before?? But so far, we've yet to see Tech actually laugh and I headcanon that Tech snorts when he laughs. (Has anybody seen the live action TMNT?? Kinda like how Donnie laughs in those). So ohmiGOSH it's so WhOlEsOmE when his s/o makes Tech laugh!! He's so CUTE!

The rest of the batch will be out getting supplies while Echo works of the exterior hull of the ship and Tech and his s/o fix up the systems inside.

Tech laying under a panel: "Hm, this wire seems to be adhered to a far less efficient arrangement." Tech's s/o wordlessly shuffles over from their panel to analyse the problem. Their shoulders touch as they lie side by side.

S/o: "Mm, I think you're right, but see here? It looks like it's been manually transfigured. Probably by Echo in one of our many quick fixes. It looks like he's done it so he can easily access and program the flight module."

Tech: "I'm going to rewire it to-"

S/o: "To that one right?" His s/o says, suppressing a smile as they point to clearly the wrong wiring. Tech's eyes narrow and his brow furrows.

Tech: "Of course not! That would compromise the-" He catches a glimpse of his s/o's cheeky grin, "oh you're joking." His s/o bursts out laughing and he can't help the smile that stretches over his face as he shakes his head.

By the end of the repairs, the batch come back to find you both practically rolling on the ground in snorting fits of laughter.

Their humour paired with their competence makes them super attractive to him.

Wrecker

Wrecker finds his s/o's dry humour the funniest thing in the galaxy. He is one of those blessings that will always laugh at your jokes.

Which is a relief cuz I have dry humour and almost no one ever laughs at my jokes rip.

I mean, you guys saw how he reacted in ep 1 when Omega DeStRoYeD those regs in the mess hall. He was so proud and supportive of her.

So yeah he's pretty much his s/o's hype man.

He loves that his s/o's humour means that they quite enjoy playful competition and games. So they're always playing random games together, even going so far as to arm wrestle (S/o: "But we both already know who's going to win... Me. Obviously.")

And sometimes he will let his s/o win, just because he thinks it's so cute when they start flexing their arms and boasting about how strong and amazing they are.

He knows they're joking. He knows they know he let them win. But even though they've never really beaten him, he still thinks they're strong and amazing.

There is always friendly banter between the two but what Wrecker loves the most is how easy his s/o makes things for him.

He's not a natural at romance, and often finds himself making mistakes or he might do something a little awkwardly. But instead of being mad, disappointed, or judgmental, his s/o just smiles or laughs it off and walks him through things.

He feels like he can always be himself around his s/o.

Crosshair

Again, it's canon and fanon that Cross is a bit of a grumpy pants so he obviously finds his s/o's wit irritating at first. Which his s/o finds annoying, so his s/o just does it more just to get under his skin.

Totally enemies to lovers trope. I see it no other way. FiGhT me.

His s/o would make jokes all the time but I see that one day, his s/o makes a dry joke and he gives them crap for it, and they've just had enough and so they absolutely *slam* him with snark, sass, and wit that cannot be rivalled by Crosshair himself. They get right up into his face; tension as thick as s o u p.

And then he just grabs their face and makes out with them.

His s/o's like "ok" and totally rolls with it.

The Bad Batch wonder why they don't fight as much anymore (not that they're complaining).

Now they both use their sass to bully the regs.

They kinda become this unbeatable pair of unrivalled attitude. Unlike Hunter and his s/o who use it to tease each other, while Cross and his s/o do that a little too, they mostly direct their humour and sarcasm outward. Cross's s/o is a little more good natured than him though and will pull him in when he goes a bit too far.

He generally finds his s/o's humour quite funny now (though he'll never admit it), and the fact that he smiles a little more doesn't go unnoticed by his brothers.

Echo

Ok while Hunter is master of the dry humour, Echo is KING of sarcasm.

Having said that, I feel like Echo would actually far more appreciate light humour over sass/snark/wit/etc.

I think after being through the crap he's been through, echo baby just needs a light hearted, positive beam of sunshine in his life and his s/o is it.

He loves that his s/o always has a way of making others laugh and smile, even on really hard missions and in rough times.

I think his s/o having a lighter humour also makes him feel safer. Like there's no chance of miscommunication whereby this s/o accidently hits a sensitive topic. His s/o sticks to surface level humour which makes it easy to digest.

They are also absolutely fantastic at telling funny stories which is a real treat when his s/o will retell stories about some of the missions the Bad Batch has done and they just execute the story perfectly.

Echo is in love with his s/o's laugh and thinks it's so cute when they giggle at their own jokes.

He'll never say it, but his s/o's humour sometimes reminds Echo of Fives and Cutup, which is a bit bittersweet for him.

They say that "a joyful heart is good medicine" and for Echo that couldn't be more true. His s/o's joyful heart and nature revive and heal him. He is so much happier because of them and will tell them so in between little kisses as his s/o giggles playfully at his gentle yet eager ministrations.

~ Sister

Tag list: @damerondala @imalovernotahater

@kaorikoizumi @xlittlemissydjx @in-the-crosshairs @dionysuskid21

@littlemisscare-all

[notasouleater]

@justheretolurk24 Okay So

Everyone gets cursed yadah yadah, my only switch up is anyone involved that is not "the beast" is the invisible variant. "The beast" still looks spooky but is now the one slowly turning inanimate. Have fun being a statue. The only way to reverse the curse is to "Love and be loved in return"

After a certain amount of desperation is reached, someone sarcastically suggests they put on a talent show to save the day. Hold on, says the beast. Getting a bunch of people to come here means A Lot of opportunities to love, and if we made it like a proper variety show then we get return guests for rehearsals. We don't even have to talk to people we can use flyers

No one else is happy about this but it's the first time the beast has shown passion in years and like. Probably nothing will even come of it. Fine

Several people come of it

Everyone is doing their best to make this work. 90% of their marketing was just dropping flyers into the wind and hoping it would find someone. They were not prepared for a whole 8 people all of whom are automatically accepted for whatever it is they signed up for

The next meet-up has significantly more people, dragged in by their friends who 'Told You the flyers weren't a scam'

So the show builds. The beast is having the absolute time of their life planning everything. All the invisible folks are getting increasingly into it, for some if only because New People that are bringing Non Invisible Clothes. Someone has to talk the beast into getting an actual stage manager bc they're so into it they took on too many roles and are forgetting to sleep

And folks start losing the curse. People are meeting new people for the first time in a long time, and forging new connections, partners, friends. They love and love in return, and slowly people are being seen again

Many folks want to travel, now that they can, but are staying long enough for the show. They want to see all that work come together. They want to see it happen

The beast is getting stiffer. Sometimes when they move they think they see cracks forming, and they wear longer and longer sleeves, difficult with the way their joints move now. Someone confronts them on it, maybe, and they say they just need to make it through the show. They aren't going to break the curse. They care about many of the people here, but that's not love to them. They think in terms of close folks and people they don't want to lose, is it a crime they use different words?

They don't want anyone to know they won't last long after. They don't want this to be a swan song. They want people to tell them what they think could go better next time. They want people to make a next time.

Everything grows and build and the main night is approaching and one by one the curse slowly lifts until opening night comes and the entire audience is fully visible. The beast comes up and gives a speech about how proud everyone should be (many of them first time theatre makers!), because shows aren't just words on paper, or a story on a stage. Shows are everything they did to get to this point. They're made of people. So please watch, and know what you're really seeing is all those around you that put effort into making it.

Then the mob bursts through the door and everything goes to shit lol

Chaos and screaming and a lot of general accusations at this horrific demon brainwashing everyone. The beast does not leave the stage. They command attention, in the way you can only do in a story. A show.

They ask the mob who they think they're hurting. Everyone here came together to make something, and it's the first time in a long time they and everyone around them have gotten to do that. If the mob wants them dead that's fine. They'd be dead soon anyways. But they love working with these people and they love this show, and they're fighting for that.

More chaos. The general crowd is not, in fact, very happy to hear their friend is Apparently Dying.

It ends with the collected assemblage fighting back. They're fighting to save the show. But they're also also defending someone they love. Some as a friend, of course, but for many others as someone that made this world for them. As someone that keeps fighting for it, someone they want to keep working with. Words on paper, a vision on a stage can't love in return. But, as the beast said, shows are made of more than that.

And this is when the curse fully, finally lifts

anyone want to hear my extremely 'we get it op, you're a theatre kid' beauty and the beast concept

[nobody7102]

The Spider-Man and Spinneret: Chapter 3

WARNINGS: None

Pairings: Tobey!Peter Parker x Reader

Chapter 2 Chapter 4

Master-List

A/N: Just a little info on the beginning

Peter = Normal Text

Y/N = Bold Text

It returns to normal text under the cut

“The past few years have been hectic to say the least. I got bit by a genetically modified spider and I-”

“Excuse me Peter, aren’t you forgetting someone?”

“Myself and my partner Y/N got bit by genetically modified spiders, causing us to be able to do some crazy stuff”

“We fight crime all over New York, protecting those in need, and keeping everyone safe”

“Along the way, Y/N and I have encountered some pretty crazy people”

“It started with our best friend Harry’s father; Norman Osborn, he was working on a serum to enhance a soldier’s capability and he took it himself, but it had some side effects”

“The serum caused Norman to go crazy and terrorize New York…and in the end we lost him to the madness”

“Directly after that our friend Harry offered us jobs at his family company Oscorp… I accepted that offer, while Peter took on the college life and began to work at the Daily Bugle taking pictures of the cities heroes Spider-Man and Spinneret. Everything was great, we fell in love, got our own apartment together, fight crime”

“Until we met Doctor Otto Octavius, a genius scientist who was studying and experimenting with alternate forms of power, I got to know him because I was writing a paper on his work, and Y/N because she was keeping an eye on him for Oscorp. With his work he build a great machine”

“But on the day he was supposed to showcase it the machine lost control”

“Causing him to permanently have robotic arms fused to his spine, he kidnapped Y/N in an attempted to get what he wanted for his machine to work but even he realized that he couldn’t contain the power he tried to wield”

“Eventually we got a bit of a break from the super crazy people, and it was just a few bank robberies here and there, maybe a carjacking. Nice simple stuff”

“Until this Thing and Flint Marco came into the picture. You see one night Y/N and I were having a nice picnic in the park when this black goo attaches itself to me but that's a story for later on, but when my Uncle Ben had died I thought I had killed the man responsible for his death, then I learned about Flint Marco”

“When Peter learned about Flint he wasn’t only fueled by rage, but by the hatred of this black goo that had attached itself to him. He became mean and cruel… and that's the one and only time we broke up. But eventually we got back together after I had learned that Peter had gotten rid of his gooey little friend, but his focus was still on Flint Marco”

“In his own words, Flint had bad luck. His daughter had gotten sick, and he made some choices he wasn’t proud of. The night Ben died was an accident, it was never meant to happen, so while running from the cops he fell into an experimental reactor causing him to become The SandMan”

“Eventually I was kidnapped… again by Flint and Eddie Brock who is another long story in itself, it took Peter and our friend Harry who not long before had tried to kill Peter but that again is another long stor-”

“Nonetheless Harry and I saved Y/N and I finally realised that Flint had never meant to hurt anyone the night Ben died, so I let him go. And I hope that he’s living a good life where ever he is right now, Harry and I also managed to take care of Eddie and the Goo”

“So here we are today”

“Swinging thought New York, day and night to protect our city and our people”

“We’re just like everyone else ya know."

“We’re just Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man and Spinneret”

__________________________________________

Cheering could be heard through the streets as citizens watched the infamous Spider-Man and Spinneret fly though the streets.

“You had to have the police scanner on, didn't you Parker?” Y/N huffed landing on an empty rooftop. Letting the bag she had been carrying fall to the ground. “You know Harry and MJ are gonna hate us for missing the party.” she placed her hands on her hips watching Peter land next to her.

“What did you want me to do, tell robbers not to hit up a jewelry store tonight?!” he raised his arms with his response. “We’re in the city that never sleeps Y/N, this isn’t our first rodeo, Besides Harry and MJ shouldn’t have planned they’re engagement party as a hybrid New Years Eve party”

Y/N shook her head, shooting a web at the ledge of the building before anchoring herself over the edge.

“What are you doing Y/N?” Peter walked over to her.

“I’m gonna see what time it is, if we’re lucky we can still swing over to the party. Now anchor my web” Peter did as he was told, watching Y/N lower herself to a window of the building they were on, after a few moments she pulled herself back up. “Its 11:10, if we huff it we can make it” Y/N started for the ledge of the building before she was pulled by her wrist into Peter, his arms going around her waist when she was close enough.

“Hey, I wanted to say I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fling that cash register at you, and I wasn’t trying to make us miss the party” His voice was soft, his hands rose from her waist and started to lift up his own mask but before he could Y/N stopped him.

“I know what you’re doing Peter” she smiled “Save it for Midnight” she gave him a kiss on the cheek before picking up the bag and running from the building ledge, letting her webs pull her through the streets.

All Peter could do was smile before following in pursuit.

By the time the duo reached the rooftop of MJ and Harry’s building they had 20 minutes left to kill before midnight, the two changed back into the clothes they had dawned before needed to stop a robbery and made their way down to the party.

Knocking on the door, the two waited hand in hand. Y/N glanced at their surrounding environment before noticing that the back part of the shirt Peter wore had a stain on in towards the hemline. Unlacing her fingers from Peters she reached to tuck his shirt into the waist of his pants, causing Peter to jump.

“What are you doing?!” he turned to look as Y/N just continued to reach to tuck in the shirt.

“Pete, you gotta stop moving you have-”

“WHOA! Is that why you two are late? Got busy playing hanky-panky?” As luck would have it when they were in the worst position the door was opened to reveal none other than Harry, “I know Peter’s a stud Y/N but save for your apartment” he joked.

Y/N chuckled, giving Harry a light smack on the arm before pulling him into a hug. “Sorry we’re late Harry we ran into a pro-”

“Oh I know, there was a breaking news update saying that Spider-Man and Spinneret stopped a big robbery, now come inside Mary Jane’s been waiting for you two to get here” Harry ushered them in, after closing the door he announced loudly. “Alight Parker and Stellan have arrived! We can really start the party”

“Really man?” Peter signed looking to Harry

“You two showed up late, I'm just making it fair” he smiled, placing his arm around Peter's shoulder “So are you excited to finally be working with your best friend?”

“I still can’t believe you and Y/N talked me into working at Oscorp” Peter’s eyes went to Y/N who stood only a few feet away hugging and congratulating Mary Jane. “But you’re right, I get to work with my best friend and my girlfriend, what's not to love?”

Harry patted Peter’s shoulder, his eye also going over to Mary Jane and Y/N. “Look at us man, we’ve got our highschool sweethearts, great jobs. If I would have told you when we were sophomores that this is where we would be, what would you have said?”

Peter just laughed “I would have told you that Y/N doesn't go for guys like me and that MJ doesn’t like guys who show off” he joked causing Harry to give him a light shove. “No, really…..for you, without a doubt I could see it, but me being with Y/N…I would have said no chance in hell she settles for me” Peter shook his head.

“Yeah, you're probably right.” Harry agreed but with what he didn't say. They two stood in silence for a few moments just watching their partners before Harry pulled them out of their trance. “You two, need to play catch up!” he exclaimed looking for a few shot glasses.

—----------------------------------------

Not that far away, on the other side of the party sat Y/N and Mary Jane taking in their surroundings.

“I’m not kidding MJ this is all amazing, how did you even talk Harry into letting you do all of this?” Y/N motioned to the mass of decorations everywhere

“I have my pulls Y/N I have my pulls” she laughed “So, have you given any thought to what I asked you about last time.” MJ’s demeanor completely shifted “You and Peter have been together for how long now? Its about time you guys move up the ladder” she nudged Y/N's shoulder.

“MJ, you’re crazy” Y/N shook her head laughing “We are taking it slow”

“That is the same answer you gave me last time” MJ lightly shoved Y/N laughing.

“And that is the answer you’re gonna get every time you ask” Y/N laughed back “Peter and I don’t need to move at a rapid pace. I’m glad that you and Harry are together and are tying the knot but Peter and I are fine right where we are”

MJ huffed “I see the way he looks at you Y/N h-”

“All of New York sees the way he looks at me MJ, I’m not blind either. I love him and I know he loves me” she hummed looking over to Peter and Harry futz around the kitchen. “If he want to propose to me he can” she looked back to MJ “I’m ready to take on anything with him”

MJ opened her mouth to speak but before she could Harry came barreling over placing a plethora of shot glasses on the coffee table in front of them.

“Hope I wasn’t interrupting anything” he wiggled his way between MJ and Y/N, Peter followed behind him taking a spot next to Y/N, kissing her cheek as he sat. “You and Peter are so far behind on shots, I took the liberty of bringing all of them over and you guys are taking them now” Harry pointed between Y/N and Peter.

“I tried to talk him out of it.” Peter put his hands up in defense.

Y/N just shook her head taking a shot glass, and pointing to Harry “You are horrible” throwing back the shot she waited a moment then pointing to the glass “and that was disgusting”

Everyone laughed as Peter shrugged taking a shot as well, it took him a few moments regaining his composure from the disgusting liquid “We are not taking all of these ourselves.” he hummed. And started handing out shots to MJ, Harry, and anyone who would take them. Until there were only two shots left, one for him and one for Y/N.

“To, the High School Sweethearts” Peter raised the shot glass in toast. The other three followed suit. “To Harry and MJ, may they find happiness in their engagement..” he then motioned next to him before he could start MJ took over to toast.

“To Peter and Y/N, still going 5 years later. May they find love, and safety especially with their side hobby”

“And with Peter’s new job with Y/N and me at Oscorp” Harry added in.

The group laughed and nodded, taking the toast, all throwing back their shots.

The group all took a few moments after their shots, faces grimacing just as Peter’s did. For a few moments everyone just sat, looking at each other, realizing that they all were where they wanted to be so many years later. MJ was starring in her second Broadway hit, Harry had taken over Oscorp just as he wanted to (Sure he had his dark moment when he tried to kill Peter and Y/N, and they caused him to experience being physically scarred for life so really it was a fair trade). Y/N and Peter had the city crime rate at an all time low for 2 years, not to mention Y/N was head of research at Oscorp and Peter would be joining her as her assistant in the next few weeks.

Standing from his spot Harry walked over to the radio, turning up the slow song that was playing before offering his hand to Mary Jane. “Well we got a few minutes to kill and I don’t know about the rest of you, but I would love to dance into the new year with my lady” he smirked as MJ took his hand to join him in a dance.

Y/N looked to Peter with a smile, a knowing smile, a smile that says ‘you can’t get out of this’. He immediately shook his head no, even as Y/N pulled him to stand and make their way over to the other couples at the party who had started dancing.

“Why do you do this to me?” He questioned as he placed a hand on her waist. “You know I can’t dance” with his other hand he took hers.

All she could do was smile, but this was different, it was soft. “And yet here you are” her head went to rest in the crook of his neck. “Placing your hands where they’re supposed to go, swaying in beat with me” she hummed, taking a few seconds to inhale his scent.

Even after taking down robbers his cologne didn’t fade. The bergamot and woody scent flooded her nostrils as she mouthed the words to the song, closing her eyes letting everything from the adrenaline, the shots, and Peter’s scent muddle together.

Peter didn’t say it out loud but if he could freeze a single place in time, this is where he wanted to stay, in this exact moment. He wasn’t sure if it was the shots kicking in, or the rush of adrenaline from the night but something was just perfect about this moment and he didn’t know why. Was it the pomelo citrus scent of Y/N's perfume, the way the light was illuminating her features, or was it the fact that he’d been thinking about their future together ever since the toast? He couldn’t pinpoint it and quite frankly he didn’t want to.

They were so taken in by each other's presence that neither one of them noticed when everyone around them started the countdown. So when everyone around them started to kiss it was Peter that gently took Y/N's jaw in his hands and brought her face close to his.

Just as their lips were millimetres apart he softly whispered “Happy New Years” before closing the space between the two.

The rest of the night was a blur as everyone celebrated not only the New Years but also Harry and MJ, drinks were continuously had, dances continued, and many plethora of kisses between Peter and Y/N were had. At some point they drunkenly made their way home, taking the car escort Harry had so graciously offered. Laughter and singing filled the air of the car, Peter and Y/N not caring about a thing in the world other than each other. So when the pair awoke the next morning on the couch of their apartment more laughter ensued.

—---------------------------------------------------

In the weeks that followed, nerves filled the air, not because of a crime increase or anything like that, but from Peter’s anxiety over starting at Oscorp. The fact that he would be the new guy, not to mention he didn’t wanna make Y/N and Harry look bad.

So here Peter stood, outside of a conference room, staring in on Harry and a few other people, jumping when Y/N placed a hand on the small of his back.

“Hey Pete, are you okay?” she hummed watching Peter nod in response. “Then what are you waiting for?” she moved to hold open the door for Peter motioning him inside the conference room.

“There they are!” Harry called out as Peter and Y/N took their seats. “Now we can get this meeting started.” he clapped his hands together. “First off I would like to say welcome to our two new hires to the research department, Peter Parker” Harry motioned “and Sergei Kravinoff” he moved to motion to a man who sat across the table. The man gave a little wave to everyone else in the room. “Now that we have the formalities out of the way, Y/N would you take it away?”

Harry sat down as Y/N scooted closer to the table. “Yes, welcome to Mr. Parker and Mr. Kravinoff” she smiled, “We’ve started the genetic testing of the gene sequence by running it through the AI systems, so far we’ve had two successful tests and the rest of the sequences need to be tweaked before we can run them through the systems.” she folded her hands in front of her “I’m hoping that with the addition of Mr. Parker and Mr. Kravinoff everything will hopely run a bit smoother and faster considering both of them have a background of some sort in gene research.” her foot bounced lightly under the table and it took everything in Peter’s power not to place his hand on her leg.

“Great, well then that wraps up the morning announcements” Harry smiled standing from his spot “Sergei, Peter if you guys wouldn’t mind waiting outside of the conference room, I just need to have a word with Ms. Stellan then she is all yours gents”

The two just nodded making their way out of the room, Peter supposed he was lucky considering he could still hear the conversation that was happening inside.

“Okay, what’d you find, you said you found something” Harry’s voice sounded anxious way more than it had a few moments as, shuffling was here before Y/N spoke.

“Yeah, I had the lab run that serum you found…Harry…. The sequences match up, so do the chemical markers…. We need to put this in secure storage, and I don’t mean in that value you have behind the portrait of your father. I mean real chemical vault monitored storage.” Y/N's voice strained.

“It doesn’t need to go into chem-”

“Yes it does Harry” Peter could hear Y/N slam her hand on the table “Harry do you understand how severe this serum is?! This is what killed your father, this is what almost killed you! Can you imagine what would happen if an employee was exposed to it? Or god forbid if you were exposed to it again?! It would kill you”

It was at this point that Peter decided that now was probably the best time to butt-out of the conversation. Rocking back and forth on his heels he looked at Sergei before extending his hand out to him “Peter Parker” he smiled.

Sergei just smiled back shaking it “Sergei, so Ms. Stellan said you had a background in genetics as well?”

He chuckled “Well I don’t really have a background in it, but I’ve got some experience” shrugging his shoulders as he responded. “What about you?”

Sergei nodded “Back home, it's what I went to college for.” he hummed.

It only took a minute before Y/N emerged from the conference room, with a blank look on her face. She took a moment to adjust her lab coat, then turned to Peter and Sergei.

“Alrightly, let's get down to the offices and the lab where I will give you two a run down” she started walking to the elevators leaving them to follow.

As soon as they were in the elevator she clicked the tenth floor button “With the elevators, the offices are on floor 10 and the Labs are just above on floor 11. I’ll take you two to the office first so you can get settled.” The three of them stood in silence waiting for the elevator to go down to the proper floor, since all of the conference rooms were on the 17th floor.

As the doors opened to the offices, small spaces were revealed to the three. They could even be called cubicles, they were bigger than that but still cubicles. Y/N lead them down a few rows before stopping at two empty desks next to each other.

“These will be your desks, We don’t really use the office space very much outside of parties and storing your coats and lunch if you have it.” she motioned to a room at the end of the row “That is my office, if you need anything, if the light is on i'm normally in there.” she was about to continue but was cut off by a ring coming from her pocket.

Pulling out a pager, Y/N looked at it for a moments then turned to Peter and Sergei “I need to go up to the lab right now, but take a few minutes to get settled here and go up to the lab, if I don’t meet up with you two within ten minutes of you getting up there I’ll have someone show you guys around, okay?” she hummed her eyes widened waiting for their responses. To which she was met with words of agreement before she made her way over to the elevators.

Her back was turned to Peter but he could tell she was stressed from the way she kept her hands in her lab coat pockets to the slight indent she had in her cheek from biting the inside of it.

As soon as she entered the elevator, the face she made when she turned around was enough to let Peter know something was happening.

[blackwoolncrown]

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

But enough is enough.

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

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

>>Copied here in case anyone gets paywalled when they click the above. The full article is...a lot.<<

WHY AM I WRITING THIS

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

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

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

YES, ALL COPS ARE BASTARDS

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

No, against homeless people collecting cans from recycling bins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

BASTARD 101

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

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

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

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

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

Meaning, “I’ll take my chances in court rather than risk getting hurt”. We’re able to think that way because police unions are extremely overpowered and because of the generous concept of Qualified Immunity, a legal theory which says a cop generally can’t be held personally liable for mistakes they make doing their job in an official capacity.

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

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

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

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

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

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

HOW TO BE A BASTARD

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I just remembered something, do not talk to cops.

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

Do

not

fucking

talk

to

cops.

Ever.

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

DO THE BASTARDS EVER HELP?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

HOW DO YOU SOLVE A PROBLEM LIKE A BASTARD?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One final idea: consider abolishing the police.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Are Prisons Obsolete, pg. 107)

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

A WORLD WITH FEWER BASTARDS IS POSSIBLE

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

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

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

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

And to any cops who made it this far down, is this really the world you want to live in? Aren’t you tired of the trauma? Aren’t you tired of the soul sickness inherent to the badge? Aren’t you tired of looking the other way when your partners break the law? Are you really willing to kill the next George Floyd, the next Breonna Taylor, the next Tamir Rice? How confident are you that your next use of force will be something you’re proud of? I’m writing this for you too: it’s wrong what our training did to us, it’s wrong that they hardened our hearts to our communities, and it’s wrong to pretend this is normal.

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

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

RESOURCES TO YES-AND WITH

Achele Mbembe — Necropolitics

Angela Y. Davis — Are Prisons Obsolete?

CriticalResistance.org — Abolition Toolkit

Joe Macaré, Maya Schenwar, and Alana Yu-lan Price — Who Do You Serve, Who Do You Protect?

Ruth Wilson Gilmore — COVID-19, Decarceration, Abolition [video]

[writefasttalkevenfaster]

John Munch / Simple

Prompt: “Suck it” “oh i’m gonna suck something” 

Word Count: 3,887 

Warnings: canon typical situations and violence, discussion of rape (non-graphic), hurt/comfort apparently, fin and munch are literally some of my fav characters to write for lmao, some discussion of the psych evals from 1x22

A/N: what is this? how did this happen? I don’t know - i blame @laneygthememequeen​ mostly, but also my friends for enabling me beyond belief lmao. 

“Am I allowed to come in or must I bow and show my allegiance before I am deemed worthy?” and you didn’t need to look up from your desk to know who it was. Your pen still moved, scribbling notes in the margins of the answer that was given to you by Roger Klessler — more hassle than law. 

“No need for allegiance, Detective Munch — I know you only give that to your squad and your string of conspiracy theories,” you finish with the page, sparing him a glance, “only compliance is needed — the one thing you didn’t do on the last case.” 

“Your hands aren’t exactly clean yourself, counselor,” he shuts the door behind him, slipping his hands into his pockets, “what did you do to get that warrant again?” 

You raise an eyebrow, “Are you questioning my integrity?” 

“Funny, I didn’t know lawyers had any,” 

“They don’t, but I can try, can’t I?” you lean on your elbow, “what do you need?” 

“We have a suspect in holding who just invoked, we thought they might be a little more conducive to having an A.D.A. in the box with them,” he tilted his head. 

“Alex isn’t available?” 

“Alex told us to get you,” you held in your sigh, “don’t you lawyers talk to each other?” 

“No, we communicate through telepathy,” you reply drily, grabbing your coat and bag, “Let’s go.” 

~~~

“Counselor, you should remind your client that his options are running out,” to say this meeting was going poorly would have been the understatement of the century, “and my patience is running thin.”

A serial child and women abuser — with videos abusing so many children and women over the last twenty years, videos that made your stomach turn — and to make matters worse, he had made into a business, selling these children and women and their pain for profit — and now it was time to make his pain your profit. 

“You have no evidenc—” 

“We have a witness who saw your client, we have his DNA being run against the blood that was found at the scene, and when it comes back it will match and your client will be facing life in prison—” your teeth grit,  “And I’ll be sure he gets it. Or, give up your sick buddies. And maybe you’ll have the possibility of parole in the far off future.” 

“You fucking bitch—” he spits at you. 

“Is that the best you can do?” you raise an eyebrow, as you see Munch tense out of the corner of your eye, “Mr. Bradford,  I’m not scared of you. I’m not a defenseless child or battered woman you can intimidate—” you cross your arms, “not so easy picking on someone who can fight back, is it?” 

 Bradford lunges,  but Munch shoves him back into his chair, “Do we need to add assault on an A.D.A. to your laundry list of charges, Bradford?” and you blink, slack jawed, a shiver going down your spine — if Munch was a second later— “Try that again and I’ll have you—” 

There’s a knock on the window, and your eyes snap over, “Control your client, counselor, or I’ll have him locked up in solitary,” your jaw is set — you wouldn’t give him the pleasure of seeing you waver, “the offer had 24 hours — it now has an expiration date in ten, so look forward to hearing from you in one.” 

The door shuts behind you, your fingers white knuckling the handle of your briefcase. Liv frowns, “Are you—” 

“I’m fine,” you wave them off, as Munch emerges from the room as well, “tell me when he caves to my offer. And when you’re setting up the sting to get the other guys — I want to be there to make everything go smoothly. No screw ups this time.” 

“All due respect, counselor, but we don’t need a babysitter,” Fin says. 

“All due respect, Detective, maybe you do,” you swallow the lump sitting on your throat, “we need to nail these guys — we have all of New York, 1PP, and the D.A.’s office all breathing down our necks — it needs to be airtight,” you scan all of their faces, “unless all of you would like to take the heat?” 

“I don’t think any of us want that, counselor,” Cragen cuts in, “we appreciate your help. We’ll let you know when we decide to go ahead with the sting.” 

You nod curtly, intent on leaving the precinct as quickly as you could — the image of Bradford lunging at you still fresh and stinging — but nothing was that easy, “Counselor,” Munch was at your side, standing beside you at the elevators, as you pressed the button, “in a rush?” 

“To go home? Yes,” 

“I just wanted—” 

“Wanted what, Munch? What do you want?” you sigh exasperatedly, fighting a losing battle for your voice not to break, “I’m not in the mood for a verbal sparring match, so why don’t we take a rain check?” 

The elevator doors ding, and you step in, hoping to spare yourself the agony of a response, but he follows, the doors shutting behind him. 

But surprisingly his voice was soft,  “I wanted to make sure you were okay,” 

“I’m fine,” you cross your arms, hoping that it would hold you together, until you got to your office, “I’m not scared of him, Munch—” 

“I know you could kick his ass, counselor, I’m not asking you if you’re ready to go seven rounds in the ring with him—” he leans against the wall of the elevator, “I’m just asking if you’re alright.” 

You raise an eyebrow, “John Munch asking me if I’m alright? No sarcastic remark?” 

“I know, I’m surprised myself, I might have to ask Skoda to do a psych eval on me,” and you crack a smile, shaking your head. 

“It was scary,” you admit, something you didn’t want to, “I’ve been threatened before — messages, verbally, even had a guy say he would kill my family—” you bite your lip, “but I never had someone try something, physically before.” 

“It’s okay to have been scared, y’know,” the elevator doors ding, and you step out, shaking your head, “no one expects you to be strong all the time, counselor.” 

And you pause, looking back at him, “But I do,” you blink away the tears, “good night, detective.” 

~~~

“It’s too risky!” you ignore Munch, continuing to fix your makeup, “You saw how you acted when Bradford lunged at you — why—” 

“I would do anything to make sure these men get put away,” you finish your makeup, grabbing the outfit Liv had handed you, “and that includes this.” 

This being an undercover operation designed to get names of victims, ages, and dates if possible, before arresting the group for exchanging pictures and videos of their crimes. 

“Putting yourself in the middle of this chaos? You’re being reckless—” 

You slide past him and into a bathroom stall, “I know what I’m doing,” 

“Do you? Do you know how many things could go wrong?” he continues, “I could list them for you for posterity — assault, battery, rape, and let’s not forget murder—” 

“I don’t think Liv will let me get murdered when she’s in the room with me, and I would you, Fin, Stabler, and the Captain wouldn’t either—” 

“Things go wrong on these ops, counselor — the field isn’t as safe as a courtroom — court officers, a metal detector right outside—” 

His words fail when the door swings open, a skin tight bodysuit clung to your figure, crimson, just as his ears nearly were, his eyes raking over your outfit, before finding their way back to your raised brows, “You were saying?” 

He stumbles over his words, “I was saying that—” you cross your arms, waiting and he finds himself distracted all over again, before he shakes himself from his stupor, “I was saying that this is too dangerous—” 

“Munch—” you cut him off, “I appreciate your concern, really I do, but I’m going to nail these guys anyway I can, so you can’t change my mind,” your hand finds his shoulder, squeezing, “but I can count on you to have my back right?” 

He simmers, sighing, his eyes softening, “Of course,” and you squeeze his shoulder, and he calls after you as you head towards the squadroom,  “I just hope they taught you taekwondo in law school,” 

“And I hope you know by ‘having my back,’ I meant more than my ass,” you flash him a smile over your shoulder, shaking your head, and flexing your fingers. 

It would be fine. 

You would be fine. 

~~~

It wasn’t fine. He couldn’t find you. 

“Where is he? Where is that son of a bitch, he took—” 

“Munch, calm down,” Liv starts, and he’s shaking his head, his finger in his face. 

“You were supposed to watch them, you were supposed to—” 

“Hey, Munch,” Elliot cuts between him and his partner, his hand on his shoulder,  “we all were there, Bradford slipped out during the raid, there wasn’t anything we could do. We’re going to find them.” 

Munch brushes him away, finding Fin, “Where are we on Bradford?” 

“Got him sneaking out during the takedown,” Fin points you out in the crowd, “looks like he had a knife pressed against counselor’s back, just out of view.” 

“How the hell did that scum sucking, gangrenous low life of a—” 

“Looks like he stole it off one of his buddies he was setting up,” Fin rewinds the tape, and points it out, “lifts it right from his pocket.” 

“Where does he go?” Fin fast forwards, until he gets to the cameras outside, shooting from the van itself. 

“He steals a car down the street, must belong to that brownstone,” Fin shoves the equipment at another officer, “Let’s get the license plate and get a bolo out.” 

Liv and Elliot join the two of them, handing a report to Fin, “We got a list of places that Bradford was known to hang out at—” 

“What are we waiting for?” Munch brushes past them to the car, rounding the car to the driver’s seat, pulling it open, before Fin stops him. 

“I’m driving,” Fin says, holding his hand, and Munch opens his mouth to rebut, “do we really have time to argue right now?” 

Munch glares at him, before handing him the keys, “You better not abide by any traffic laws,” 

“Do I ever?” 

~~~

“Can we go any faster than this? I swear my great uncle could drive faster than this,” Munch expects his partner to be angry, but he’s only sighing and shaking his head, “what?” 

And Fin side eyes him, “If you’re in love with—” 

Munch gapes at him, “I’m not—” 

“--then why don’t you just say something, man?” Fin scoffs, “you can deny it all you want, explain it away with one of your crazy ass conspiracy theories, but it’s there, John.” 

Munch pulls off his glasses, running his hand over his face, fingers resting right below his nose, “You know every time I got married, I thought I was in love,” 

“I know, and then your ex-wives screwed you — what about it?” 

“This is different,” he sighs, “and I don’t want to admit that to myself.” 

“What’s so bad about that, Munch? You want to try again,” and Munch is shaking his head. 

“You know a psychiatrist once told me that the reason all my marriages failed was because I chose women who were spoiled, beautiful, and not my intellectual equal?” 

“Meeting some of your ex-wives, I could believe that,” Fin’s eyes fall back to the road, “what’s your point?” 

Your name slips from his lips, “this is different — this is someone’s who's my equal — smarter than me, beautiful— it could — we could be—” he cuts off, “I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose--” and he cuts off, sighing, “I don’t know.” 

“Well that’s easy, John,” Fin pulls over, the car screeching as it does, “we won’t,” and he jerks his head, “whose car does that look like?” Munch calls in the car, unbuckling himself and slipping from the car, “We have to wait for back-up—” 

“I’m not waiting—” before he adds, “you don’t have to come—” 

“I’m not letting your bony ass get shot again,” Fin is already shutting the car door, pulling his gun out, “let’s go.” 

~~~

“Are you scared now?” Bradford asks, circling you — a predator gauging its prey — no, he was simply playing with you now. Your wrists flex against your restraints, the wood grain of the chair digging into your skin the more you struggled, the rope around your wrists ungiving, “are you, counselor?” 

It was rhetorical — judging by the tape stuck to your lips and the fact he continued to speak, and his fingers fist into your hair, pulling your head back, “Come on, no smart remarks now?”

Are you that stupid that you’ve forgotten that you taped my mouth over? 

No, wait he was that stupid. 

And he slaps you — the sting of his palm against your cheek dazes you a moment, and then his fist lands a blow in your stomach, choking on the same air you breathed, tears burning before slipping down your cheeks. 

“Do you think this is bad?” and now he’s holding your face between his fingers, nails digging into your cheeks, and he grins, a shiver going down your spine,  “just wait.” And he disappears a moment, his shadowy figure rifling through a bag on a table. 

Your eyes darted around, looking for something that could help you, something to help you escape, but nothing was within reach. Your chest squeezed — what if you died here? What if you never saw your family again? What if you never saw your friends again? What if they never found your body? Fear claws up your throat, eyes burning. 

What if they found your body? 

What if Munch found your body? 

You had promised him you’d be careful, but you were careless. You didn’t watch Bradford close enough, you didn’t stick with Liv, you were stupid — so stupid. 

And you wondered if he’d rape you before he was done — if they would find your body like so many victims that came across your desk. You wondered if he’d kill you at all — or just let you live with the memories of his torture. 

And you didn’t know what was worse. 

But then something clatters in the distance, and his head is whipping around, there are footsteps, and he’s grabbing a knife, cutting your restraints free,  “Come here bitch,” he mutters, hurrying to cut the ropes, at your feet before moving to the ones at your wrists,  “they aren’t taking me before I get a chance to slit your throat.” 

Blood roaring in your ears, you know you have to do something — he’s almost done cutting the last rope at your wrist. You couldn’t wait for help. 

You rear your head back, before smashing it into his, hard. His groan gets caught in his throat, as you lunge for the knife, the handle within grasp of your fingers, and you’re trying to crawl away, a deep ache in your skull. You’re stumbling to your feet, but his fingers close around your ankle. 

“I should have fucking killed you from the start,” and you kick him with your free foot, hearing him scream and the satisfying crack of his nose breaking, gripping the knife in your hand and pushing yourself to your feet. 

And you rip the tape from your mouth, “Get the fuck away from me!” you point the knife at him, heart pounding against your ribcage, as he lays clutching his bloody nose. 

But he’s still getting to his feet, “You better hand over that fucking knife—” 

“You better not take another step before I blow your brains out,” and suddenly Fin and Munch are there, Fin stepping forward to arrest Bradford, as Munch is beside you. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” and he’s trying to ease the knife out of your fingers, but you won’t let go, “let go of the knife, it’s okay,” he’s murmuring in your ear, slipping the knife from your fingers, “you’re okay. I got you.” 

Your knees are buckling, and he’s holding you, your head buried in his chest, “I thought he was going to—” 

“I know,” he says softly, “I know, but you’re okay.” 

“Because of you,” And he’s helping you up, and police sirens in the distance, as he helps you out of the building, “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” he whispers, “I’m sorry,” 

“For what?” and his arm around you squeezes you gently. 

“For not saving you sooner,” And suddenly EMS and police are flooding the scene, Fin is shoving Bradford into a car. And you spot him, glaring, but Munch steps between his view, his arm around your shoulders, “don’t bother with that scum. He’s not worth it.” 

And he wasn’t — you knew he wasn’t, but you know that you wouldn’t be able to prosecute him now. But, you craned your neck to watch him be taken away, you wanted to see the bastard get put away at least. 

It’s over, you tell yourself as you rest your head against Munch’s shoulder. 

It was over. 

~~~

“I just want to go home,” you shake your head, but he pulls you along regardless, protesting all the same.

“Just let them look at you, please?” he asks, “if only for my sanity.” 

And you scoff softly, “I thought you lost that a long time ago,” 

“There’s that wit,” he replies, and you go with him, fingers intertwined with his. E.M.S. examines you, insisting on taking you to the hospital for a possible concussion. But you don’t want to — you just want to sleep, you want to take a shower, you want to forget this ever happened— 

“Please just let me go,” you’re pleading with him, tears slipping down your cheeks, “John, please let me go home.” and he’s wavering for a moment, before his hand is on your shoulder, gently pushing you back down. 

“I can’t, and you know that, counselor,” he never wanted to see you cry like this, he never wanted to see you as a victim — because you aren’t just another victim at his desk or in photos spread across his desk — you were you. 

But you were also a victim now. 

“Why not?” you lie against the pillow in defeat, tears slipping down your cheeks, and he’s leaning down to your level, running his fingers through your hair. 

“Because you’re hurt, and you need to be seen. I don’t trust doctors as much as the next conspiracy nut, but you still need to see one,” he tilts his head, “do you want me to come?” 

And you’re blinking back tears, before nodding, “I’m sorry, I’m—” 

“Don’t apologize,” he’s wiping your tears away, “don’t ever apologize for this.” 

~~~

You don’t remember much else — it’s a blur of testing, until finally they let you sleep. And you don’t know how long you sleep. But you don’t dream, and for that much, you’re thankful. You awake to the low hum of hospital machinery, and quiet voices in the room. And you blink, the fluorescents much too bright for you, and your eyes flutter shut again, before not before voices creep in. 

“—been asleep?” 

“It’s been a few hours,” Munch whispers, assumedly trying to keep from waking you, but that was out of the question already, “docs gave something for sleep.” 

“Have you said anything yet?” and it’s Fin asking. 

“When? In between the ambulance ride here and the C.A.T. scan and the fifty other tests they ran?” Munch replies drily, sighing, “it’s not the right time,” 

“You know there’s never going to be a right time, John,” and you’re grateful that you’re turned away from them, your brow furrowed, their voices growing louder, “you have to say something or is counselor a mind reader now?” 

“Well—” 

“Don’t spout another conspiracy theory or you’ll be the one in the hospital bed,” you could almost see Fin crossing his arms. 

“You know that psychiatrist also told me I could make a conspiracy theory from a five-year-old’s lemonade stand,” 

Fin raises an eyebrow, “Well now that I believe,” 

“What am I supposed to say?” Munch asks, “‘hi, I know you almost just died, but I think I’m in love with you?’” 

And your eyes snap open, the air sucked straight from your lungs — “It can be that simple,” 

He was in love with you? John Munch was in love with you. Your heart squeezed at the thought — you hadn’t a clue that he was. You knew he cared — but you didn’t know he… loved you.  

“Nothing is ever that simple,” and you turn around, the words leaving your lips without a thought. 

“It can be, John,” and both him and Fin’s gazes snap to you, a small smile on your lips, “if you let it be.” 

Munch is staring at you slack jawed, while Fin is grinning, elbowing him, “I’ll leave you two alone,” before he adds, “remember that there is an officer at the door—” 

“Fin—” and he’s gone, disappearing out of the door, and Munch is wiping a hand down his face, his cheeks flushed red, “so how much of that—” 

“All of it,” and he’s covering his hands with his face, “for someone who claims to be so evolved, you’re very cute when you’re embarrassed,” 

“I’m cute?” he repeats, and you hold out your hand to him, and he’s staring a moment — as if he can’t believe it — before taking your hand, “how cute?” 

You snort, “Just cute enough, don’t go getting an ego,” 

“You’re sure it’s not just the concussion? And the almost dying?” and you roll your eyes, tugging him closer, by his coat’s lapel, and he’s whispering your name. 

“How’s this for an answer?” and you kiss him — his lips barely brush yours a moment, but he’s already pulling you back in, parting and meeting until you hold him there a moment, fingers twisting in the hair resting on the small of his neck, “John—” you breath against his lips. 

“I don’t understand why…” he whispers, your foreheads brushing. 

“Why...?” 

“I don’t understand why me,” his fingers cup your cheek gently, as if you’d disappear between his fingers, “you could be with anyone — why would you choose this paranoid, old detective?” 

“Because it’s you,” you softly chuckle, and you draw your lips to his again, “and I wouldn’t want you any other way,” before you add, “except maybe sharing your feelings more so I don’t have to overhear any other conversations to know how you’re feeling.” 

“I could say the same to you, counselor,” 

“Excuse me, I said how I felt first,” you gape at him, in mock offense. 

“Only after hearing how I felt,” but you shrug, smiling as your noses brush. 

“Still, I was the first, so suck it,” you reply, and he laughs, a warm sound that makes your chest stir. 

“Oh,” his lips brush yours, a smile on his lips,  “I’m gonna suck something.” 

[rubythecrimsonwriter]

Hey what if. Katara keeps doing the Painted Lady thing. Like yeah imitating a spirit and doing things in their name is uhh not a good idea BUT the Painted Lady thanked her which 1) means that Katara has a favor that can be called on and 2) implies approval. So even if 2 falls through she can fall back on 1 long enough to not die or get possessed or smth and thus has warning enough to stop before shit goes down.

Anyway. This means that she keeps doing thr Painted Lady thing because Katara learned that Fire Nation doesnt always equal killer and might be having just as many issues as not-Fire Nation because of the Fire Nation and it might have taken a minute but she's like what. Fourteen? We'll forgive her having to take a while to process concepts adults have issues with.

I digress. The point is the Blue Spirit and the Painted Lady are in the same places a lot (wonder why). Shit needs to get stolen and people need clean water and healing everywhere. And sometimes shit needs to get cleaned and people need to get stolen and two spirits are the best beings for the job of disappearing both things and people, as both "spirits" can attest to.

Both. Ahem. Spirits. Can immediately see that the other is decidedly not. But imitating spirits is a good way to get dead or worse so absolutely fucking nothing is said about it.

And they work just. Disgustingly well together. For never speaking, almost impossible to see each other's eyes, using minimal bending from separate nations, they can read each other like a book and its frankly disturbing. Has them both second guessing the other's state of being because two strangers just cannot work this well together right off the bat. It just can't.

And then there's the knock down, drag out fight where Zuko and Katara are on opposite sides of the battlefield and its like mid battle when they realize this is my partner is crime that's wanted in like twenty something cities and three nations. Because the work we do needs to be done.

For the world. For the Fire Nation. Whichever one they're working on protecting or enabling at the time.

And of course the revelation goes badly, this is the two hot heads of the series. Idk what you expected, really. It turns from a knockdown, drag out fight to as vicious, underhanded brawl as two benders can possibly have and leaves everyone else going wtf is WRONG with you, grabbing their respective bottle of seething and hightailing it out of there.

And of course, Zuko is still trailing the Avatar. So its inevitable that they'll meet again. And its while the Painted Lady is healing a child, adorned in wispy mist, when she looks up and sees the eerie mask of her partner, her enemy, her hunter and tracker and annoyance and annoyingly good at being good, she doesn't see why he has to don a mask to not be evil, she at least has the excuse for being a foreigner in occupied territory, nobody would let her do anything without the mask.

She darts across the river like a dragon-skimmer, racing to get away and circle back and warn her friends, never mind how she got this information that Zuko is hot on their heels, she's definitely not moonlighting as the Painted Lady again, Sokka, most definitely not, but he keeps pace, and around and around they go, until they're two morons in costumes falling over in exhaustion as the stars fade away and Katara's breaking the silence to whine at him for parkouring off of a lamppost to bounce off a boat and cling to the side of the fence lining the river like a lizardfrog and he just starts shouting at her for being as surefooted on slick rooftops as she is wandering on the ground and it devolves quickly from there. Two "spirits" in the screaming match of the severely chronically sleep deprived. They're lucky Aang doesnt come across them and decide to go try and fetch more frogs for them to suck on and get captured again.

Enemies to respected coworkers to friends to lovers Blue Spirit and Painted Lady and an I know that You know that I know about the Identity Shenanigans but wtf can we do about it slow burn Zuko and Katara while Azula and Sokka respectively hate literally everything about this and they don't even know the other's identity. A case of Let's Deal With This Later Bc We Have Other Issues and also Your Sibling Is The Worst. Ready, set, go!

[strawberryspence]

when death knocks on your door

Angst/Fluff [18+] | Spencer Reid x FEM! BAU! Reader

Summary: Some trauma tears people apart, while some brings people together. SSA Doctor Spencer Reid and SSA Doctor Y/N Y/L/N is brought together by the death of SSA Emily Prentiss.

Word Count: 3,13k 

Warnings: based on the Ian Doyle/Emily Prentiss character arc so some spoilers for s6-s7. talks about death (a lot of it), mention of drug use, allusions to depression, attempted suicide (nothing graphic), mention of cancer & car crash, a few curse words, description of smut, its very vague (one part only), mentions of therapy, HAPPY ENDING (i am not a monster)

Writer's Note: Hello! A bit of a heavier topic on today's fic! I picked apart the whole Emily arc and this is written basically in the reader's perspective. I love writing angst but I can never end it with sad endings. So I hope you enjoy this, I am very proud of how it turned out! 💛

GIF is made by yours truly. Its surprisingly hard to find "purple shirt + sweater vest spencer reid" gifs.

Death.

Death.

Death comes in different shapes and forms.

For Spencer, he has seen it up close with Haley and Hotch, but never with someone in his family or close group of friends. He sees death in the form of abandonment, in ways when people leave him and a part of him goes with them.

For you, you were familiar with death. Death looms over you. You’re father dying when you were younger and then you’re mother in your teens. 

Death comes when your father was killed in a car accident involving a drunk driver. It was fast, in a blink, death sweeps him and takes him. All her father’s life and dreams gone in a second, with a crash.

Death comes when your mother was diagnosed with cancer. Cancer, the fucking bitch, takes her time. It was slow, like it was enjoying the pain. It takes and it takes till its taken everything and the last thing it has taken is your mother.

And death comes when it takes Emily Prentiss. This was your best friend, partner in crime and roommate. Her death wasn’t fast, it wasn’t slow, its painstakingly in the middle while you try to get her blood off your hands while sobbing in the SUV as Derek drives way past the legal speed to get to the hospital.

In her death, you find yourself being swallowed by something that you were not. Something bigger, something you can’t describe. The team sees this weeks after she has been buried. You were the same person, and you were a different person, all at once.

One night, when death was about to knock on your door as you hold a knife to your wrist, ready to meet Death, ready to tell him off, it is then when chance knocks on your apartment door.

Spencer is at your door, a sobbing mess with three bottles of dilaudid clenched in his hands. He stumbles in your new apartment avoiding the piles of boxes unopened. You just moved, not being able to sleep in the apartment you and Emily shared.

“I am sorry. I-I am sorry, Y/N. I didn’t know where to go. JJ was... busy and I am so close... so close.” Your heart softens at how desperate he looks, Spencer doesn’t know how strong he is to you, being able to ask for help when you were just about to end it all.

You take the bottles from him, setting it on the counter as you guide him to your couch. He clings to you as you both sit on the couch, crying and sobbing.

“Death is among us. Avoiding him is what makes us stronger." You whisper to him and he cries harder.

Something is so bitterly comforting when someone shares the same pain you are suffering. It hurts, but in a funny way, it hurts less when some shares it with you.

So you cling to Spencer as he does to you and you let it all go. You cry as much as he does as he holds you and as you hold him.

You both wake up the next day, with a full 8 hours of sleep, something you both have not had in weeks.

“Thank you.” Spencer whispers and you smile, stroking his hair, “Thank you.” You say it back at him.

You were sure that Emily is laughing at her grave. I had to die for you to finally make a move on your crush. You shake her voice off your head. Now is not the time for silly crushes.

It becomes a routine, finding comfort and safety in each others presence, Spencer almost lives in your apartment. His toothbrush sits on the cup besides yours in the bathroom counter, his clothes takes up half of your closet, his books scattered on the shelfs and his cups on the kitchen counter.

You tell yourself its platonic. Spencer tells himself its platonic. The team doesn’t say anything, only thankful that you were reverting back to your old self and Spencer is getting better.

You want more. It was hard to admit to yourself. But you wanted more with Spencer. Your little crush now growing into something bigger than yourself. You wanted futures full of him and what you have right now is not right. Shared trauma is not love.

Three months into the set up of him basically living in your apartment, you suggest therapy for both of you. You are a Doctor of Psychology and you know the percussions of what you’re doing.

Spencer is shocked but he understands. This was your territory, Spencer knows that this was the right thing to do so he agrees. You lay out all the options to Spencer, all the therapy and how both of you should change your routines more often.

It works. He stops sleeping on your bed every night (he still comes tho, just on the harder nights where he needs to hold you to remind himself that death has yet to take you).

You have breakfast together every morning, using it to comfort each other rather than sleeping together every night. It works.

The therapy helps you both as you both move on from Emily’s death. That is until seven months later.

-

Declan was missing. You’ve let the Emily case go but Derek has not, you know this and you let him. Every time you want to do something to help Derek catch Doyle, your doctorate that hangs above your couch stares back at you, like it was taunting you. You studied this, moving on was the better choice and you know it. No amount of killing Doyle would bring back Emily, no amount of it would make you feel better.

That is until Hotch gathers the team on the conference room.

“Everybody have a seat.” Hotch instructs. You all look at each other. Spencer looks at you as if asking if you knew what’s up but you only shake your head.

“Why?” Morgan asks, looking around.

“Seven months ago, I made a decision that affected this team. As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle. But the doctors were able to stabilize her—“

“What?” You squeak out. Hotch holds his hands up, asking you to hear him out first.

“She was airlifted from Boston to Bethesda under a covert exfiltration. Her identity was strictly need-to-know and she stayed there until she was well enough to travel. She was reassigned to Paris where she was given several identities, none of which we had access to for her security.”

Spencer can see how your face pales. He reaches for your hand under the table and gives it a tight squeeze. You return the squeeze, finding comfort in his touch.

“She’s alive?” Penelope asks, tears now forming in her eyes.

“But... we buried her.” Spencer says, like its a fact. Like its the solid truth. Your hand clamps down harder on his.

“As I said, I take full responsibility for the decision. If anyone had any issues, they should be directed to me.” Hotch says and all you can do is look at him, not able to believe anything he is saying.

“Any issues? Yeah, I got issues!” Derek’s loud voice now looming over the room.

“Oh my god.” Penelope squeaks making the whole room turn around. You turn around and you see Emily walking to the room. Your hold unto Spencer tightens, as if checking if he is real, you want any sign that this is not a dream, that this is real.

“I am so sorry. I really am. Not a day went by that I didn’t want to...” Emily explains.

Death comes and it takes, and it takes, and it takes but never has Death give someone back to you.

Emily was standing in front of you. The woman whose blood stained your hands for days, the woman you buried, the woman who’s grave you cried on for god knows how long that Derek had to physically carry you away from her grave and here she was breathing and hugging the team.

She comes in front of you and you still haven’t let go of Spencer’s hand.

“Y/N?” She says, it comes as a whisper. A whisper, coming from the ghost that has been haunting you for months. She opens her arms for a hug and you let go of Spencer to hug her.

She was real, she was solid and she’s hugging you back. So why, in the mountain of emotions you are feeling, why is happiness in the bottom of the pit? Why is anger the one screaming in your heart?

You pull away, and she hugs Spencer but as soon as she lets go, Spencer captures your hands again. Emily sees this and smiles, but doesn’t say anything.

“There’s so much I want to tell you guys, and I will. I promise. But right now I really need to know what’s going on with Declan.” The team continued to discuss Declan and Spencer holds unto your hand like its his life line. You only break apart when the team has to work again.

He gives you one look as he separates away from you, “I got you.” He says, kissing your temple before leaving to go to the interrogation room.

That was enough to calm you down.

-

The team gets Declan back safely and after all the trials, you finally had a moment to breathe.

“Hey, you doing good?” Spencer asks. You nod. He looks good, he looks like home in a purple shirt and sweater vest.

“Do you want to go home?” He asks you. You want to shout but you’re my home! You nod and he takes your scarf from your desk and wraps it around you.

“Let’s go?” You smile at him as he wraps it around you. It felt so domestic, so familiar.

You walk together to the elevator, leaving the BAU and all the piles of emotions that you’ve been through this past few days. As you both stand in the silver tin box, you see your reflection with him standing beside you, his arm around your waist and your head on his shoulder.

You wanted to scream how much you love him. But the voice in your head screams back, he doesn’t love you! It’s shared trauma! You shake your head and Spencer sees this.

“You okay? How are you feeling?” You smile up at him, as he looks at you with all the worries that a person can hold for another one.

“Yes, I am good, Spence. How about you?” He smiles and kisses the top of your head. “I am good. I just need time to process some of the things that has happened.”

Spencer drives you both home. Spencer doesn’t take the word hate lightly but Spencer hates driving. He still drives tho, for you. Holding your hand while he drives with the other, while you were staring out of the window, just watching the places blur by.

Death waits on your door and when the right time comes, it will knock. When it does, you can’t turn it away or send it away. When it knocks, it sweeps you off your feet, leaving no time for goodbyes or regrets. Ironically, Spencer walks you to your door, opening it for you and even taking your scarf off for you.

Your heart almost grows twice its size and you can feel yourself bursting in its seams. You find yourself closing the door, as if trying to block Death away from him. He smiles at you and something bursts inside of you.

“I love you, Spence.”

He drops your keys on the bowl on your hallway and he smiles, teasingly. “I love you, too, Dr. Y/L/N.” You smile but you shake your head.

“No Spence, I love you. With my whole heart... I mean, of what’s left of it. W-we need to stop, if this is only a shared trauma for you. I can’t be that... because... I love you and I want futures with you. Any kind of it, as long as you are there, every morning with a cup of hot coffee for me. If that’s not possible, we need to stop. Because my heart...” You hold unto the edge of the table for strength.

“My heart... is not strong enough to lose you and love you at the same time.” Spencer stares at you, confused with a certain spark in his eyes.

“W-why are you saying this now?”

“Because death is at everyone’s door. Emily is lucky. But what if it takes me tonight, or tomorrow? I don’t want to die without telling you that I love you.” You say, bracing yourself for the impact of the rejection.

Spencer walks to you, holding your waist to steady you.

“I love you, more than anything in this world. I have love you even before Emily died. This isn’t shared trauma, it’s been love way before that. If it's anything, it made my love for you grow deeper. You... helped me heal. You pushed me to go to therapy. You made me stronger, Y/N.” Spencer holds your face and brings you into his arms and you clung unto him as he hugs you.

“I love you... I love you so much.” You whisper to him and he hugs you as close as humanly possible.

Spencer lets go of you but cups your face to lift it closer to his face. Spencer kisses you like it was the last time you can ever kiss him. It felt like a fever dream you once had. The fire of the kiss fills in the cracks in your heart, slowly but surely healing it all at once.

Life, the direct opposite of death, has always been hard to describe. Death was easy to describe for you but Life? it was a struggle. But with Spencer kissing you, as he holds your hand and your face, so tenderly like you were going to break, you finally realize what life is supposed to be. It felt good being alive, it felt good to be breathing.

You and Spencer sleep together for the first time that night. It is in one word, unbelievable. It was as if the universe has planned it all along to teach you what it felt to be alive, as he pushes himself inside you, whispering nothing but sweet praises and promises of futures together in your ear. You wake up, hours after making love, tangled with him and the bed sheets, with you in his arms.

“I love you.” You whisper to him, brushing through his hair as he sighs to your touch, snuggling more to the crook of your neck.

-

The morning comes in a breathe. Easy and fast. You wake up earlier than Spencer, untangling yourself from him to make him his daily morning coffee.

A knock comes and it almost makes you drop his mug. Looking up at the clock, it was only 7 in the morning. The thought disappears as another knock comes. You open the door and today life offers you Emily Prentiss.

“Hey, good morning.” She says with a smile, you give it back, still not used to seeing her, alive.

“Hey.” You smile looking at her as you let her enter.

“Pen said you had my boxes.” She looks around on the apartment. “Its not here. Its on the garage downstairs. Do you want it right now?” She nods. “Oh. Uhm, the team actually helped me move it there, its a little heavy...”

“Okay... I’ll get the team to help me later.” You nod but don’t say anything and the silence is so loud, it’s deafening.

“Can we talk?” Emily asks, in a gentle voice. Almost like she’s talking to a toddler. You shake your head. “We can, but not today... I need to process some things first and I need help with it. We can talk this weekend, after my therapy.”

“Therapy?” She repeats. You nod. “Therapy.” She bites down her lips, you know Emily enough to know that she feels bad about it.

“I know it’s not your fault, Em. I understand, but I just... need time. I... buried you. I cried on your grave and for months, I had to accept the fact that you were... dead.” Emily nods, opens her arms for a hug and you gladly accept it.

“I’ll give you as much time as you need. You are my bestfriend and I love you.” You nod and hug her tightly, reminding yourself that she was alive, and that was what’s important.

The hug was cut short when Spencer comes out of your bedroom half naked.

“Spencer?!” Emily almost screams as she pulls away from the hug.

“O-oh... I-I didn’t know you were here...” He says as he slowly backs up the door and picks up a shirt to wear.

“When did this happened!?” Emily is definitely losing her mind now.

“Uh... Last night?” You said, not exactly sure as to when it started. Emily’s mouth drops in surprise and Spencer can only smile at her offering her a cup. “Coffee?” Spencer says with a smile and a shrug that makes both you and Emily laugh.

Emily doesn’t stay long after that, opting to leave the two of you to spend some time together. Spencer and you end up in the couch, huddled together in a huge blanket you both knitted together with cups of coffee in hands.

“So... Are you officially moving in with me?” Spencer looks down at you. The steam of the coffee colouring your cheeks a bright pink colour.

“Do you want me to?” He asks, smiling at you. Spencer loves you, in ways he didn’t know he possibly can and he’d give you anything you want. You could ask for the stars and Spencer would build a rocket just to get a few to give to you (even if he knows it was impossible because, well, stars are made of gas.)

“I want you everywhere. You... are my home.” You say softly, as your hands caress his cheeks.

“Then, I am moving here, love.” He says as he kisses your forehead and you lean unto him as you wrap the blanket tighter around each other.

“I love you.” He says as you lay your head on his chest and he brings you closer to him. You smile and whisper it back. “I love you more.”

Most people say that time heals pain. It, truthfully, does not. Love does, love in the corniest way possible, mends your soul in ways that are not physically possible.

When Death knocks on your door it will be in different shapes and forms, but so will love and for you, love came in the shape and form of Spencer Reid.

-