#not very happy with the sign but it was hard

[luna-azzurra]

Body Language Cheat Sheet For Writers 

╰ Facial expressions

These are your micro-signals, like the blinking neon signs of the soul. But they’re small, quick, and often lie harder than words.

Raised eyebrows — This can mean surprise or disbelief, sure. But it can also be a full-on, silent “Are you serious right now?” when someone’s being ridiculous. Or even curiosity when someone’s too emotionally repressed to askthe damn question.

Furrowed brow — That face people make when they’re doing long division in their head or trying to emotionally process a compliment. It’s thinking, yes—but also confusion, deep frustration, or quiet simmering rage.

Smiling — Can be happiness… or total fake-it-till-you-make-it energy. Some smiles are stiff. Some don’t reach the eyes. Show that.

Frowning — Sure, sadness. But also: disappointment, judgment, or the universal “I’m about to say something blunt, brace yourself.”

Lip biting — It’s not just nervousness, it’s pressure. Self-control. Anticipation. It’s the thing people do when they want to say something and decide, at the last second, not to.

╰ Eye movement

The window to the soul? Yeah. But also the window to when someone’s lying, flirting, or deeply trying not to cry in public.

Eye contact — Confidence or challenge. Eye contact can be gentle, curious, sharp like a blade. Sometimes it’s desperate: “Please understand me.”

Avoiding eye contact — Not always guilt. Sometimes it’s protectiveness. Sometimes it’s “I’m afraid if I look at you, you’ll see everything I’m trying to hide.”

Narrowed eyes — Calculating. Suspicious. The look someone gives when their brain’s saying “hmmm...” and it’s not a good hmm.

Wide eyes — Surprise, yes. But also sudden fear. The oh-God-it’s-happening look. Or when someone just found out they’re not as in control as they thought.

Eye roll — Classic. But try using it with tension, like when someone’s annoyed and trying very hard not to lose it in public.

╰ Gestures

This is where characters’ emotions go when their mouths are lying.

Crossing arms — Not just defensive. Sometimes it’s comfort. A self-hug. A barrier when the conversation is getting too personal.

Fidgeting — This is nervous energy with nowhere to go. Watch fingers tapping, rings spinning, sleeves tugged. It says: I’m not okay, but I’m trying not to show it.

Pointing — It’s a stab in the air. Aggressive, usually. But sometimes a desperate plea: Look. Understand this.

Open palms — Vulnerability. Honesty. Or a gesture that says, “I have nothing left to hide.”

Hand on chin — Not just thinking. It’s stalling. It’s delaying. It’s “I’m about to say something that might get me in trouble.”

╰ Posture and movement

These are your vibes. How someone occupies space says everything.

Slumped shoulders — Exhaustion. Defeat. Or someone trying to take up less space because they feel small.

Upright posture — Not always confidence. Sometimes it’s forced. Sometimes it’s a character trying really, really hard to look like they’re fine.

Pacing — Inner chaos externalized. Thinking so loudly it needs movement. Waiting for something. Running from your own thoughts.

Tapping foot — Tension. Irritation. Sometimes a buildup to an explosion.

Leaning in — Intimacy. Interest. Or subtle manipulation. (You matter to me. I’m listening. Let’s get closer.)

╰ Touch

This is intimacy in all its forms, comforting, protective, romantic, or invasive.

Hugging — Doesn’t always mean closeness. Could be a goodbye. Could be an apology they can’t say out loud. Could be awkward as hell.

Handshake — Stiff or crushing or slippery. How someone shakes hands says more than their words do.

Back patting — Casual warmth. Bro culture. Awkward emotional support when someone doesn’t know how to comfort but wants to try.

Clenched fists — Holding something in. Rage, tears, restraint. Fists mean tension that needs somewhere to go.

Hair tuck — Sure, flirtation or nerves. But also a subtle shield. A way to hide. A habit from childhood when someone didn’t want to be seen.

╰ Mirroring:

If two characters start syncing their body language, something is happening. Empathy. Chemistry. Shared grief. If someone shifts their body when the other does? Take notice. Other human bits that say everything without words...

Nodding — Not just yes. Could be an “I hear you,” even if they don’t agree. Could be the “keep going” nod. Could be patronizing if done too slow.

Crossed legs — Chill. Casual. Or closed-off, depending on context. Especially if their arms are crossed too.

Finger tapping — Time is ticking. Brain is pacing. Something’s coming.

Hand to chest — Sincerity, yes. But also shock. Or grounding—a subconscious attempt to stay present when everything feels like too much.

Tilting the head — Curiosity. Playfulness. Or someone listening so hard they forget to hide it.

Temple rub — “I can’t deal.” Could be physical pain. Could be stress. Could be emotional overload in disguise.

Chin stroking — Your classic “I’m judging you politely.” Often used in arguments between characters pretending to be calm.

Hands behind the back — Authority. Control. Or rigid fear masked as control.

Leaning body — This is the body betraying the brain. A tilt toward someone means they care—even if their words are cold.

Nail biting — Classic anxiety. But also habit. Something learned. Sometimes people bite because that’s how they self-soothe.

Squinting — Focusing. Doubting. Suspicion without confrontation.

Shifting weight — Uncomfortable. Unsure. Someone who wants to leave but doesn’t.

Covering the mouth — Guilt. Hesitation. The “should I say this?” moment before something big drops.

Body language is more honest than dialogue. If you really want to show your character’s internal world, don’t just give them lines. Give them a hand that won’t stop shaking. Give them a foot that won’t stop bouncing. Give them a mouth that smiles when their eyes don’t. And if you’re not sure what your character would do in a moment of fear, or love, or heartbreak, try acting it out yourself. Seriously. Get weird. Feel what your body does. Then write that down.

[letterlitter]

Let go (nsfw)

Lando Norris x reader

•Lando needs to relief stress after a bad weekend

•tags: smut, semi public, handjob (male recieving), Lando is a sad baby, moaning

•word cound: 1.6

(I haven't proofread this yet and it's 2:30 a.m sorry in advance)

It had been a rough few weeks. You had been away on business and Lando was racing but things weren't going as well as you both hoped.

All had gone downhill after the first race of the season which Lando had won. MCL39 was fast and everybody knew that, yet Lando had been struggling to get it right and use the car's potential to its fullest. He had been updating you through video or phone calls and he repeatedly told you how much he could use a kiss; to which you would reply with a giggle and a "very soon baby" and when you finally made it to the Saudi gp, it was a nice surprise for Lando and the press.

The qualifying had gone terribly for Lando and he wasn't happy about the results at all. You could see him pouting and rolling his eyes from behind his helmet as he got off the car.

You tried to find him in every crowd and be in his sight even when he was busy to let him know you were there, watching and supporting him in real time but eventhough he always smiled back and tanked you several times for it, it wasn't enough to keep him out of his own head.

Sunday, race day

Lando was starting in the middle, closer to the back of the lineup than the front. You and the team sat in the garage hoping for the best and while you had your eyes on Oscar dominating the race, you were worried about Lando. He was doing pretty well with the overtakes and the overall pace but everyone was now more focused on the screen showing how Oscar was going to take the win.

You liked Oscar, he was very talented, hardworking and well deserving of the achievements he had; but your heart broke for Lando, since no matter how had he pushed and how hard he was on himself, he didn't seem to always get it right. You loved him despite every obstacle the media or both of your lives' circumstances were putting in front of you but it hurt your heart to see him try and not see results. You knew how it felt like, to run as fast as you can and be the smartest version of yourself but see someone else doing it better with less effort.it was a tiny part of how brutal life could be. Lando had talked about it to you as well. You knew his struggles and the roller coaster his mental state would go on every single race after his first win last year in Miami.

Before, he would just settle for a podium or some points; but after expanding his capabilities and achievement's limits, he couldn't stop himself from being hungry for the best all the time even when it wasn't realistic. He was hard on himself and the pressure had gotten to him these past few weeks.

Lando ended up 4th on the Saudi gp and while he had done an amazing job, everyone's focus had been on Oscar getting the win for the team.

Lando came in after one or two interviews, helmet in hand, sweat dripping from his forehead. He gave the team in the garage a nod and went straight to the dressing room. He didn't talk to anyone or say much. "Just straight to privacy and silence where he could overthink his brains out" you thought as you stood up, held your hand to stop his engineer, Will, who had taken a step to go after him.

"Let me" you mouthed to him and slowed your steps towards the room to let Lando have his few moments of silence.

"Hello, anyone here?" You tapped your fingers on the door as you pushed it open to find Lando sitting in the farthest corner of the couch in the dressing room. Race suit still on and hanging from his hips. He lifted his head from his hands when he heard your voice and managed a "it is what it is right?" Smile at you.

You sat next to him, "very nice job today. Honestly. And not because you're sad"

Lando scoffed. That was a good sign.

"What's the point when I have done shit for the third week in a row."

"Says who?"

"Me. It's like I waited for Oscar to catch up. I just can't believe I'm this bad...actually I kind of do"

"Don't say that about yourself baby" you rubbed your hand on his back. His fireproof cold from the dried sweat, "I know you beat yourself up because you have high expectations of yourself" you slided to the floor to make Lando's held down head face you, "but with almost every standard you're still doing really really good. And you still have plenty of time to make up for it all. You will only have less chances to mess up and that's it."

Lando exhaled.

"I just think you need to let loose a little bit." you cupped his cheek with a hand and lifted his face, "Stop blaming yourself"Lando looked into your eyes for the first time with a faint smile on his lips.

"Hello there" you whispered

"Hey" his smile widened

"You want a kiss?"

"Please" he sounded desperate

You kissed him long and deep.

You kept wanting to pull away but Lando was following you, even as you tried to stand up.

The kiss seemed to get more passionate and more than just a kiss as moments passed on. Lando's hand started messaging your back, trying to find a way under your vest.

"Slow down mister, this isn't your race track" and you kissed your way down his face to his neck, tracing the helmet marks on his soft skin; Feeling his body heat with your lips, tasting his sweat. Your hands pushed his race suit's zipper lower before he pulled back a second, "the door"

You stood back to let him go and turn the lock. You usually didn't care but the last thing both of you needed right now was getting caught while everybody in the world were behind those doors.

But as soon as he came back two second later, you didn't hesitate to push him to a wall and put your hands on him, pushing his suit lower, getting to his hardening bulge after you had grinded your hips on him before.

"I see you miss me huh?"

"Is that even a question?"

"No not really"

You slightly rubbed and squeezed his balls over his underwear. Making him moan subconsciously. Lando's eyes popped from the unexpected volume of his own moaning.

"Turn it down pretty boy, people might hear us" and you rubbed your hands more firmly, making him visibly suffer. There was something about Lando after a race that made you want him so badly. Maybe it was his wet hair or the red marks on his face. Or maybe it was his wet eyes from the tears he tried to hold back earlier. It all made you...want him.

You slided down Lando's underwear, releasing his long, hard dick. First you were thinking of getting down on your knees, but you couldn't possibly miss the scenery up there. Lando's forehead was filled with wrinkles as your hand touched the skin of his penis. You could feel the slight vibrations of his neck under your lips while he moaned in his throat and tried not to be loud.

"Oh fuck y/n" he let out when you started teasing his tip with your thumb, "are you trying to...fuck..trying to kill me?"

"Shhhhh" you kissed his lips to shut him up. This was going to be slow and relieving. All of his attention and focus had to be on you and trying not to moan instead of the race results; even if it was for a few minutes.

Lando's moans were getting more frequent by the second. At one point his patience was so lost that he hit the back of his head to the wall behind him, with his fingers digging into the skin of your back. "You wanna come?"

Lando answerd with an impatient moan.

"I need those words baby" you looked up at him and smiled at his squeezed shut eyes and tilted back head.

"Please."

"Please what?"

"Oh fuck off y/n"

In a regular day, your would've listened and stopped whatever you were doing to tease him even more. But you felt he had been through enough for today so you took up the pace and moved your hand faster on the pre-cum covered surface you were working on.

"Come for me baby. Come"

You reached for a towel on the sofa in time to clean everything up before Lando got cum on both of you.

He let out a final exhale of comfort and finally opened his eyes.

"Come here" he pulled you in a tight hug as he came down from the high.

"Feel better?"

"I thought I was seeing stars are you crazy?"

You chuckled, "yes I may be"

Lando kissed your forehead a few times before he let you go.

"I have to get back out there. Also take this with you" he took the gray towel by the clean part, "and destroy it."

"Okay"

"I mean it y/n." He shouted as he was walking out the door. Making you laugh with relief seeing the difference between the way he came into this room and the way he was getting out of it.

[shinigamigloss]

shaded beauty

✏ The vista is all sweet and heartwarming and Leon’s resolved to treasure this moment forever. Only he doesn’t have a very good grasp of how to use a camcorder...

cw: nothing but fluff;3 (unless you count the tech-phobic leon) married couple, short af, husband leon will always haunt me 🫩

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Leon holds a little camcorder in his hand. It’s brand new – out of the box less than 48 hours ago – and each of its buttons feels like a bomb set with a cryptic code. He is, however, bound and determined: he needs something for himself beyond work. Gunning down terrorists, hacking through zombies, trashing the government... Sure, that’s all well and good. But the man could do with a niche.

On the beach, his steps oscillate thoughtfully. The California breeze tousles the rich caramel streaks of his hair, and his boots dive into the marshmallow-hue sand. Gunmetal eyes catch your figure dressed in cerulean blue, a gem among the tranquil crystals of the sea.

You – with your shoes off. A fat ice cream in hand. A sunny expression so sweet that even the ocean would blush at someone smiling at her like that.

Inside, Leon thinks: Gotta do it. Let me capture my wife.

Finally, a cinematic delight, an endeavor he might even grow attached to (maybe even become a die-hard fan of!).

He tilts the device. The optical lens flickers at his command. Hold on, hold on! Where’s the button? Whatever – just mash something. Click.

“Say cheeeeese!”

You incline your head a shade further. He’s already watching you, of course. Guilt lies forever frozen in the strata of his irises – buried below zero.

You simply smile back. Striking poses – from dainty to dorky. You even step to the side and brush your hair back like a top model. “Draw me like one of your French girls, Leon.”

Leon’s insides sing; he’s all soft and creamy for you. He’s no more an agent, not a man in a midlife crisis. Only a man encapsulating absolute happiness.

Many hours later, when the sun paints an orange blood across the horizon, the two of you settle on a bench. Feet matted in granular sand, knees sore, but hearts candied.

“Want to see the pictures I took?” he offers blithely.

You shake your head in assent before you give it a second thought. At your bidding, your husband flips on the screen. In the following delicious tens of seconds, a curious glow settles on both your faces.

“Oh.”

What’s that first picture?

Your hair is completely out of the frame. What about the second one? Bright sun – only an electric blanket of white. Looks like a divine force descending from the heavens.

Then the third one? Half the sea. No sign of you.

Fourth? Leon’s thumb over the lens.

Fifth? At last, you. Smiling... but blurry. A misty grin. Pearly bliss.

You laugh your whole heart out.

“These are amazing!”

Leon stares in blue puzzlement. “Really? They’re all... uhh. They’re so fuzzy.”

“Aww, what does it matter, honey?”

Leon lowers his head, a tentative grin on his lips as he cradles your hand in his lap.

“Maybe... next time I’ll make a video,” he shrugs. He’s got a reputation to save.

You powder a peck on his cheek.

“But first you have to figure out where the recording button is, Kennedy.”

[goorgeousz]

hotch is not able to tell you no. ever.

drabble

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader

content/tw: pure fluff, established relationship, reader doesn't have a specific gender!

a/n: I just couldn't get out of my head the image of being spoiled by hotch. I just feel that he goes out of his way to make sure you're happy. Ugh, I love him!

dividers by @uzmacchiato

“Aaron, baby. You could’ve just said no.” 

Hotch stared at you like you just said the most absurd thing that he’s ever heard.

To him, you really did.

Since you walked into his life, from day one, he could never, ever deny you anything. Anything being, five more minutes in bed, dressing up together for halloween, getting a sweet treat in the middle of the night, massages and every silly little thing your creative mind could come up with.

This is the reason why, on a wednesday night he got home one hour later than he used to. Ever since you and him started dating, everytime Aaron could find himself alone between one task and the other, he called you. They were quick calls, really. Almost all of them are about five minutes: many times less than that, never much more. He checked on you, maybe made plans for the night. Mainly just listening to you ramble about whatever chorus you were up to at the moment. He truly just wanted to hear you, and make sure you knew he was thinking of you.

It was on one of those calls when it happened. At some point between those 3 minutes and 47 seconds of talking you mentioned you were craving blueberry muffins with powdered sugar on top. You asked him if he could get you some from the bakery next to the BAU on his way home. He (obviously) said yes, and you moved on. You didn’t even think about it after that, it was just a moment. But your wish (every single one) was a (very urgent and imperious) command. 

So, when he walked out of the office to find out that said bakery didn’t have any blueberry muffins left, he decided to check on another bakery on his way home. And another one. After the third failure he decided to make his life mission to find the best blueberry muffins available and bring them home to you.

That’s how he found himself across town, with 30 minutes added to his already long path home and a package of (warm!!!) blueberry muffins (with powdered sugar on top, of course) on the passenger seat. You greeted him by the door the second you heard him unlocking the front door, worried out of your mind about why it took him so long to get home after he texted you he was leaving. And when he explained, you almost couldn’t keep yourself from combusting into flames at how adorable he was.

“But… you asked me to.”

“I know.” you pointed, still giggling and holding your arms around his neck, looking at him lovingly “But I didn’t want to disturb…”

“You didn’t.” he dismissed, too quickly “You never do.” he added, softly. You gave him a few pecks on the lips, smiling so hard it was almost hurting your cheeks. “Did you like it?” he asked, and in moments like this he looked like a boy, with eyes slightly wide, scanning your face looking for any signs that he did something right. You loved him a little bit more (as if it was possible) everytime he did it.

“I loved it, baby. They smell so good, I might eat the whole box right away!” you exaggerated, and was rewarded with a chuckle in response.

“Then it was worth it.” he concluded, giving you another pack on the lips.

“You spoil me. Just promise me that, the next time you will just tell me no.” he scrunched his nose at you.

“Of course, honey.”

(he never did).

[drewsctover]

something meant to be.

you lost faith in yourself and in the world, but destiny is already written — and when you least expect it, happiness finds its way to you. 𓈒 ⭒ ݁ .

warnings: none !!! maybe just reader overthinking and almost having an anxiety meltdown.

prologue.

chapter one. 𓈒 ⭒ ݁ .

it’s your first day, and joel’s not even home.

what kind of dad hires a nanny to take care of his daughter and doesn’t bother to be there to meet her — y’know, the person who’s going to look after the most important human in his entire life every single day? jesus. this man is insane.

you’d never leave edward alone with a nanny before getting to know her really well. like, stalk her on social media and check her astrological-sign. you’d have to be absolutely sure she’s a good person.

edward... god, stop thinking about him. you cannot have a panic attack on your first day.

when you stepped into joel’s apartment, it totally caught you off guard — clean, organized, almost suspiciously perfect. spacious and immaculately decorated, with these big windows overlooking a postcard-worthy view of kelowna — a small town in canada where it’s always cold, but people are warm, smiley, and weirdly eager to help strangers.

the dark hardwood floors, sleek grey couch, black-and-white furniture — it all screamed modern minimalism. like, straight out of a high-end magazine. pretty? sure. but also cold. impersonal. it didn’t feel like a seven year old little girl actually lived there too. poor ellie.

you left the living room behind in silence, your eyes trailing down the long hallway toward what you assumed was ellie’s bedroom — thanks to a cute snoopy plushie hanging on the doorknob. you let out a slow breath, trying to think of a gentle way to approach.

since losing your son, you’ve done everything you could to avoid children. that sharp, unbearable ache in your chest always finds a way to show up when you see one.

he could’ve been that age. he could’ve had a room like this. would he like snoopy too?

damn it. fet it together.

your brother warned you it wouldn’t be easy — that you'd want to turn around and bolt back to the comfort of your own home. but you didn’t think it would be this hard.

it’s fine. you’ve got this.

you walk up to ellie’s door and knock softly. on the other side, you hear a grumpy little mumble, followed by hesitant footsteps. then, the door creaks open — just a sliver.

a tiny face peers out, eyes squinted with suspicion.

“you my new babysitter?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper, sizing you up from head to toe. she looks bored. maybe mildly annoyed.

you nod and smile. she’s so stinkin’ cute.

“yes, ellie, i’m your new babysitter,” you reply in a whisper to match hers. “joel, your... dad...” the word sends an odd little chill down your spine. weirdo. you don’t even know why. “he told me on the phone that you’re really good at making new friends, and that you’d play with me until he gets back. can i come in?”

she doesn’t answer right away. her bright blue eyes watch you through the crack in the door. then, with the slow, deliberate movement of someone making a very important decision, she opens it the rest of the way.

she just stands there for a second, staring at you with this funny little expression, her blonde hair falling over her shoulders, chubby fists clenched like she’s bracing for battle.

“okay,” she says, her voice suddenly softer, gentler — none of the earlier suspicion in sight. “you can come in…”

she steps aside and you walk in, carefully, trying to keep your emotions in check. and thank god — the inside of her room is nothing like the rest of the apartment.

it’s full of life, not like a hospital room.

colors everywhere. dolls and toys scattered across the floor. stuffed animals lined up on shelves. crayon drawings taped to the walls. it’s messy, but in that magical way only a kid’s room can be.

he could’ve had a room like this...

your thoughts are cut short when ellie grabs your hand and pulls you down onto a pastel yellow shag rug in the middle of the room.

she’s shy, clearly, maybe a little worn out. but then she casts a quick, hesitant glance toward a little open box of nail polish sitting on her bookshelf. you catch the tiniest glimmer in her blue eyes — and that’s your cue.

you scoot a bit closer and sit beside her.

“these are amazing, ells! did you paint your nails all by yourself?” you ask, genuinely impressed.

“i did,” she says, her voice small and quiet. but you spot the ghost of a smile starting to tug at the corner of her lips. “but daddy always says i make a mess.”

“mess is part of the fun! i’m totally clumsy with nail polish too,” you admit, because honestly, it’s true. you reach for a little white bottle and hold it up, eyes wide. “this one matches my dress! will you show me how to paint?”

and just like that, her ghost of a smile becomes a full-on, toothy grin.

“okay. but don’t mess it up, okay? i know how to do it right.”

your heart basically melts right there.

she scoots in close and offers you her tiny hand. you gently place yours on top of hers. ellie picks up the bottle from the floor with both hands, carefully, and leans in like she’s working on a masterpiece.

and while she paints, you notice it.

your heart’s no longer racing. the lump in your throat is gone.

if she looked up at you now, she’d probably laugh at the dumb, starry-eyed expression you’ve got on your face.

ellie is magic.

you’re so glad you took this job.

hours pass like soft echoes in the apartment — cartoons fade, laughter quiets, ellie drifts into sleep — and now it’s just you and the dim hum of the fridge, the ticking clock, and the hush of your own breath.

you’re curled into the corner of joel’s gray couch, legs tucked under you, wearing one of ellie’s forgotten scrunchies like a bracelet and still smelling faintly of bubblegum polish.

and then, the door clicks.

you freeze, barely turning your head — like movement might break the spell — and in steps joel, finally home.

he looks… tired. worn around the edges in a way that feels permanent. his flannel’s half unbuttoned, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and his hair’s a little damp, like he ran a hand through it too many times or maybe got caught in the rain. there's a weight to his presence — not heavy, exactly, just undeniable.

when his eyes land on you, there’s a flicker of confusion. then something else. curiosity, maybe.

you sit up a little straighter, brushing your fingers over your knee like that’ll make you look less… like a person who just had her heart melted by a tiny human and is trying not to fall apart about it.

damn it, joel, you didn’t tell me your daughter’s a heart-stealer.

“hey,” you say, your voice a little softer than usual. “ellie’s out. like, out-out. didn’t even make it to the second bedtime story.”

joel raises an eyebrow as he walks farther in, tossing his keys in a bowl by the door. “that’s a record. she usually tries to negotiate at least three.”

you laugh under your breath. “yeah, she offered me a deal. if i let her watch tangled twice, she’d go to bed early.”

he chuckles. the sound is deep, low, warm in a way you weren’t expecting. “smart kid.”

“she is,” you agree. “and funny. and bossy.”

“that she is,” he mutters, like it’s a badge of honor.

you’re both quiet for a moment, the kind of pause that stretches just a little too long but doesn’t quite cross into uncomfortable. he leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching you like he’s trying to figure something out. like you surprised him.

and yeah, maybe you’re watching him back. maybe your stomach does a tiny, ridiculous flip when he smiles — just a twitch of his lips, crooked and lopsided.

you’re not supposed to notice stuff like that.

but you do.

“thanks for taking care of her,” he says, quieter now. “i know it’s the first day. that’s not always easy.”

you offer a small, genuine smile. “honestly? she made it easier than i thought she would.”

and then he nods — slowly, like maybe that means something to him — and says, “still. appreciate it.”

you nod back, heart doing that low thrum thing it hasn’t done in a while.

joel glances toward the kitchen, then back at you — a little hesitant, like he’s debating whether or not he should say what he’s about to say.

“want a coffee?” he asks, casual enough, but there’s something curious in the way he says it. like he’s testing the waters, seeing if you’ll stay just a little longer.

and for a second — just a second — you almost say yes. you picture the two of you sitting at the table, mugs in hand, the soft clink of ceramic filling the quiet, maybe talking about ellie, or life, or… whatever this little buzz in your stomach is.

but you take a slow breath, offer a soft smile, and shake your head.

“i’d love to, but… i should head home. first day and i’m already wiped out,” you say, rising slowly, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder.

“of course,” he nods, understanding — though something flickers behind his eyes, something that might’ve been disappointment. just a flicker. “i get it.”

you walk toward the door, and he follows, opening it for you. the warm yellow hallway light spills into the apartment like it’s gently nudging you out.

“thanks again,” he says, his voice a touch lower now, eyes meeting yours. “for everything with ellie. and… for taking the job.”

you smile, soft and genuine. “thank you for trusting me.”

you both linger there for a beat, maybe two. like there’s something else hanging in the air — something that wants to be said but refuses to take shape.

so instead, you just say:

“good night, joel.”

and he answers, steady and quiet:

“good night.”

you take a few steps down the hallway, and it’s not until the door clicks shut behind you that you realize you’d been holding your breath.

your heart’s still steady.

but your stomach… your stomach hasn’t quite caught on that this was only day one.

authors note. HELPPP i can't believe i posted this fr WHAJSBD like it says on my pinned, english isn't my first language so pls bear with me if there's any mistakes lol <3 hope u guys like it !! 🥺 if u wanna be on the taglist just lmk in the comments !!!!

[talesofanarchy]

Without You

Her hands clutched a sonogram picture, attention fastened onto the small, developing fetus that lay promptly in the still. The tiny being of life looked like a growing human, not so much like an alien anymore. It had 10 fingers and 10 toes, and its eyelashes, and hair on its head were beginning to form. It was about the size of an avocado currently, still very small and requiring mommy to keep he or she safe. The news of her pregnancy had been a big surprise and somewhat overwhelming.

She hadn’t been on birth control and Happy and herself never used a condom, so it shouldn’t have come as much of a shock. Yet, it was. She and Happy had only been in a relationship for a year, still budding in the honeymoon phase, and she wasn't sure how he’d take the news. A big part of her hoped that he’d take the news well, that maybe somewhere deep down beneath his rough exterior, he wanted to be a father.

A sigh passed through soft lips, stress weighing down her chest. She was nearly four months along, the doctor said both she and the baby were healthy, and the little guy or gal was growing at the expected rate. The following week, she would have blood work to do just to make sure there was nothing internally wrong. However, the doctor said there wasn’t anything to worry about, only subduing your worries momentarily. There had been signs that indicated a pregnancy, but signs she overlooked.

There was the slight morning sickness, tender breasts, and the unusual craving for dill pickles. Which she had hated ever since she was a kid. All of this she could only chalk up to an upcoming period, one that had been missing for the last 3 and a half months. Her cycles had always been off, and so the thought of a baby growing inside of her womb had never crossed her mind. Not until Happy pointed out the swelling of her breasts and the small circular curve of her lower abdomen.

Tired eyes skittered towards the clock on the stove, seeing it was only 5:30 pm. Happy would be at TM until 6:30, and that gave her time to stew and worry for an hour. The baby was not just her responsibility, but his too, and they both needed to decide on what to do. How to handle it, how to raise it, and if he even wanted to be a part of the kid’s life.

Oil and grease coated the outlaw’s hands, which were firmly curled around the handlebars of his Dyna. The engine idled lowly beneath him, boots planted on the concrete driveway keeping the piece of machinery in place. On the days that he worked at the auto shop he was usually home by 7 pm, however, when he had business with the club, his arrival varied.

Coal embers glanced in the direction of his old lady's Chevrolet Cruze parked on the street, knowing she was home. Today was her day off from the tattoo shop, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up on the couch with her and have a nice, cold beer. Cutting the engine and taking the key from the bike, he’d rise to his overwhelming, full stature. His strides were wide and predatory-like as he made his way to the front door, unlocking it and pushing it open.

The moment he was inside, he was shutting the door quietly behind him and undoing his work boots. “(Y/N?)” He called gruffly, wondering where she was. Once his boots were off and sitting by the front door, he began making his way into the living room, finding his old lady asleep peacefully on the couch. Lips twitched subtly, the corners slightly pricking into a smile, until he shook his head, regaining his hard expression once more.

He silently looked over the living room, finding everything to be in its place and clean. Something he appreciated about her, she could keep up with his neat-freak ways. Y/N wasn't messy, and she always put everything back in the proper spots. The TV played softly in the background, he assumed she had fallen asleep to whatever was on.

Turning, he’d make his way to the kitchen, intentions set on a cold booze. Happy was soon leaning down, rummaging through the fridge, while grabbing ahold of a Corona. Regaining his normal posture, his eyes danced along a photo on the fridge, pinned down by magnets. He did a double take, pupils widening before he grabbed the sonogram with a quick snap of his hands.

He read the name in tiny lettering above the image of the fetus (Y/F/N – Y/L/N) and all he could do was grit his teeth.

Happy’s muscular legs were carrying him subconsciously down the hallway and back into the living room where he flung the picture at her sleeping form. “What the fuck is this?” He spat.

The feeling of fluttering paper on her face, and then Happy’s booming voice spooked her awake. “Wha-.“ She grumbled half asleep, a hand going to her eyes where she began to rub at them frantically. “What’s going on Hap?”

Yet, her question was answered when she saw the sonogram on her chest. Easing herself up, she'd grab the photo, hurt lingering over her heart at the thought of his lack of interest in the picture of the baby they both had taken part in making.

“Answer me, little girl, what the fuck is that?” He growled.

Y/N had seen Happy angry plenty of times before, but his anger had never been directed toward her, not like this. Swallowing harshly, she'd grip the black and white photo a little tighter. “It’s a baby, it’s your baby.” She said.

The look of shock on his face made her stomach churn unhappily, and then he snapped. “No fuckin’ way is that thing mine. And if it is mine, get rid of it. I don’t fuckin’ want it.” He said. His words were enough to send her already elevated hormones, overboard.

Tears made their way front and center, brimming over her eyelids and falling down your cheeks.

“What do you mean get rid of it? I’m not getting rid of it Happy! It’s our baby.” She rose to her feet, hollering at him, trying to make a point.

He stepped closer to her, staring Y/N down with a disgusted scowl. “I want nothin’ to do with that goddamn thing, either get rid of it or get the fuck out of my house.” After that, he turned on his heels and stormed out of the front door with his boots in tow.

She chased after him, grabbing ahold of his bicep, wishing he’d just cool down.

“Don’t touch me.” He warned, snatching his arm away from her and backing his bike in reverse before roaring down the street.

She stood there in a confused stupor, he hadn’t acted in the way that she had hoped for. This was nothing close to what she expected. She had never seen anyone react so harshly to the news of a baby in her entire life, but then again Happy Lowman wasn’t just any sort of man. He was an outlaw, a renegade, white picket fences and kids just weren’t a part of the biker lifestyle. And if it was, it only happened rarely and far in between.

There was no denying the heartache she felt, each tiny intricate sliver of her heart was breaking into pieces. Shattering and ceasing to exist, because the man she had given her all to, wanted nothing to do with the life they had created, together. So, she stood there, dazed and confused, incapable of understanding where it went all wrong.

Tears were wiped on the back of her hand before she began retreating inside, deciding that it was time to go. There was no way in hell that she would abort their baby, no way in hell she'd ever choose Happy over the life blossoming in her belly. The moment she stopped putting herself first, was the second she found out she was pregnant. No one would ever come before that baby, not even the man who branded his name on her heart.

By the time Happy arrived at the clubhouse, he was fuming. A baby wasn’t a part of the plan, it never had been. Did he like kids? Sure. If they weren’t his, because he had no patience nor wish to deal with kids of his own. They were needy, grabby, attention-seeking leeches, that would demand everything from him and Y/N. The two of them had only been together 12 months, he wanted to be selfish with her, and he didn’t want to share her with anyone, ever.

He wanted to be able to lounge around the house with her, to fuck her on any surface of their home, to allow whatever feelings he had for her, to grow. He didn’t want to raise a kid, he didn’t want that kid putting a strain on their relationship. Something he had already done by blowing up on her. He had been a jackass to think that not using a rubber wouldn’t end in a mistake.

Cause that was what that thing growing in her was, a mistake. He couldn’t fathom why she would want a baby with him, he was a criminal, a brooding outlaw. The life was something he would never give up, not even for his kids. Were all women like that? Wanting to be married and to pop out mini versions of themselves and their partners? Apparently so.

Yet, Y/N had never brought up having kids with him, but he saw how she reacted with Abel and Thomas. That motherly instinct being worn with pride, the desire to have one of her own, evident in that dreamy gaze of hers.

If she didn’t get rid of the baby, then that would be the end of the relationship. So, was he willing to risk their relationship all for the sake of a baby they made together?

A baby that was made from admiration, carnal need, and pure love?

He hadn’t the slightest fucking clue. All he did know was that he wanted to drown his rage in liquor, to forget for a while. So that’s what he did.

Sometime after arriving at the clubhouse Happy had begun drinking, and not some feeble beers. He ordered round after round of Whiskey, easily downing it, the heat of the alcohol scorching any thoughts from his mind. When he was intoxicated enough, he pried some scantily dressed sweet butt from Half Sack’s arm, growling out. “You can have her when I’m done.” His arm dipped across the woman’s shoulder, leading her back to his old dorm room. A room in which he hadn’t spent any time, since moving Y/N in with him. Now here he was, about to bury all his frustrations and anger into some random bitch.

Yet as she was kissing his neck, and shimmying her way down to her knees, all he could think about was his pregnant old lady. Images of her kept repeating in his head, even new scenarios of her with a plump belly that housed his unborn son or daughter. Her smile, laugh, and gentle touch haunted his drunken mind, making him grunt in hindrance.

His dick didn’t even budge, refusing to get hard for anyone but Y/N. That woman had completely captivated him, enthralled him with her entire being. She had her claws in him and let it be known that he would have one hell of a time getting over her. Happy Lowman had never admitted it, but he was very much in love with her. She had said it many times, confessing all the feelings she held for him, but all he could do was shy away from the subject.

She understood though, that he wasn’t one for emotions, or much else. Y/N had accepted him when hardly anyone else did, she loved him for the piece of shit that he was, and she made him want to be better, for her, for the relationship.

“Get off me.” He snarled, shoving the broad away from him and redoing his buckle and jeans. The unknown girl could only look at him with a stupefied expression, not knowing what had changed his mind. She was just there for a good time, which was now ruined by the indecisive biker.

With nothing else to say, Happy was exiting the room, intent on finding his girl. Wherever she was, he’d go and get her, bring her back home where she belonged. Looking towards HalfSack, he motioned towards the back room. “Didn’t touch the bitch, she’s all yours.” Then he was strutting towards the clubhouse front door, the crisp air of the coast marching across his face.

Just as he was mounting his chopper, he heard the familiar voice of his VP. “Hey, Hap!” Called the blonde-haired Son, who was now striding towards him with a swaggered strut.

“What’s goin’ on with you and (Y/N?) She’s at my place with Tara, she’s a mess brother.” Jax sussed.

Happy sighed before running his hand tersely over his face. “She’s pregnant, and I flipped the fuck out. And I just realized what a dumb ass I was.”

Jax’s mouth was shaped somewhat into an ‘O’, before patting his friend’s shoulder. “Having a kid is scary, no one will tell you that, but it’s true. Their these little human beings who just take over your life and you find yourself falling in love with them. Just know, no matter what. You and (Y/N) will be great parents, we all know you love her. We ain’t blind.” The VP chuckled before squeezing his shoulder. “Now, go kiss some ass.”

“If Happy doesn’t realize how great this is gonna be for you both, then you can do it on your own. You got a great head on your shoulders, and I'll help however I can.” Tara sounded from the kitchen where she was fixing a bottle for little Thomas.

Y/N could only stare blankly at the wall, her back pressed into the sofa. Tara had become a close friend over the last year, one she confided in with everything involving Happy and the club life.

If anyone understood it, it was Tara Knowles. She had her fair share of shit-fests with Jax, and so far, the two were hanging on strong. The good doctor was raising a baby that wasn’t even hers on top of Thomas who was biologically hers. Y/N didn’t know where else to go after the blowout with Happy, so she went to the only friend she had in Charming who wasn’t one of the SAMCRO boys.

“Jax will talk to him, knock some sense into him. And if he doesn’t, I will.” Tara said, now standing beside the backside of the couch. “I’m gonna feed Thomas if you get hungry or thirsty. You know where the kitchen is.” The doctor allowed her fingers to brush over Y/N's shoulder in an attempt to soothe her before disappearing into the nursery.

All she could do was slump forward, elbows on knees, and face in the palms of her hands. For the last hour, all she had done was cry, and she was tapped out. The stress wasn’t good for her or for the baby, and she refused to jeopardize the kid’s health, despite her heartbreak.

“Fuck.” She breathed, running a hand through her tattered hair, brushing a few locks from her face.

Her head jerked towards the front door when she heard a loud knock. It was the sound of knuckles rapping over and over on the wooden frame. Glancing down at her phone, she realized it was midnight, who the hell was knocking at Tara and Jax’s house at this time?

Exhaling gently, she'd rise to her feet before trekking towards the door where Y/N cautiously peeled it back.

“Happy?” She said, dumbstruck.

Her outlaw stood disheveled in front of her, eyes dark and glossy, most likely from the liquor that she could smell seeping out of his pores.

“Are you drunk?” She snapped out with an agitated tint to her tone.

“I fucked up (Y/N.)” He swayed back and forth on unsteady feet, which made her slightly worried.

Yet when he said he fucked up, her mind instantly went to him cheating on her. “Did you go and fuck some croweater Hap?” She said low, trying to mentally prepare yourself for his answer.

“Almost. But I stopped it because I couldn’t get you out of my fuckin’ head.” He said.

And out went her sadness, which was quickly replaced with anger. “You what? Are you serious? I tell you I’m pregnant and you got out and immediately try to bag a fucking lay. You’re ridiculous!” She cried, her hands shoving into his stone-like chest.

He didn’t say anything, instead, he let her continue to berate him. Knowing that he deserved it and if anyone was going to beat him down, it would be her. Cause that’s the only person he’d ever let beat him down.

“I hate y-.” Her words were cut off by his bruising kiss, his calloused fingers tangling in her hair, drawing their bodies closer together. He protectively embraced Y/N and bit into her bottom lip claiming. Then the words he had been dying to say for months, finally slipped out.

“I love you, (Y/N.)” His warm breath danced across her cheek, his black irises boring into her lively gaze.

His thumbs began stroking her cheeks as he confessed everything. “I love you, but I don’t want to end up like my pops. I don’t want to be a deadbeat dad. Findin’ out you were pregnant was the scariest shit I’ve ever experienced, and I’ve committed murder, I’ve tortured people just for the pure fuck of it. But knowin’ ya were havin’ my kid, just, it stilled me.”

Y/N had waited so long to hear that he loved her, she honestly thought he’d never say it. But he did, and he meant it. She saw the look of terror in his eyes when he spoke of the unborn baby, and all she could do was calm his worries, all she could do was be there for him like she had been since day one.

“I always thought you’d be a great dad Happy, I never doubted that. And you will be the best daddy to our little one, you’ll never be like your father. Don’t ever think for one second that you are anything like him, 'cause you’re not.” She said.

Happy pressed his forehead against hers, his large hand sliding over her small baby bump. The first real time he even acknowledged that it was a baby and not just a thing. It was his baby, his child, and the woman he loved was carrying it.

“I love you Hap, even if you’re a pain in my ass.” She chuckled, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Likewise, little girl.” He cracked a smirk before laying another passionate kiss on her lips, his fingers flexing over her growing stomach.

[adventuresinmythoughts]

The Silence Is the Real Statement

We all know Nicola and Jake’s friends would be the first ones to congratulate them if this launch were actually authentic. Instead, we get crickets. none none of Jake and Nicola friends or teams  are reposting or celebrating their supposed "debut as a couple":

1. Lack of Authenticity: When a relationship is real and people are genuinely happy for a couple, especially in tight-knit friend groups, there’s automatic enthusiasm. You’ll see reposts, inside jokes, casual congratulations, even a little light teasing. Silence from friends suggests they don’t feel comfortable promoting it.

2. Private Discomfort: Jake’s close friends know he’s gay — or at minimum know the relationship isn’t what it's being publicly portrayed as — they're not going to endorse something that feels dishonest. Reposting would be endorsing the lie, and it could damage their own integrity.

3. PR vs Personal Reality: It’s very possible this "debut" wasn’t something his or her inner circles signed off on. It could be strictly a PR strategy driven by publicists and management teams to manufacture optics — especially ahead of Jake’s show. The friends didn’t create it, so they don’t feel obligated to promote it.

4. Respect for Boundaries: Some friends know the real situation (whether that’s Jake’s sexuality, Nicola’s personal image plans, or the pressures behind the scenes) and are choosing to stay out of the fake narrative. Staying silent protects everyone without creating drama.

5. It’s... Embarrassing: Honestly? This whole rollout looks awkward, desperate, and transparent. Friends might be cringing behind the scenes — realizing how forced it looks — and prefer to distance themselves rather than look complicit.

Bottom Line: Real love doesn’t need a hard launch. Real relationships don’t need crisis PR coordination. And real friends naturally celebrate genuine milestones — not manufactured ones.

The silence from their friends says more than any headline could.They’re just... letting the trainwreck unfold.

[genjyoandgojyoandhakkai]

The List

Xiqaa, Emmrich, and Lucanis agreed with Spite that he should have control of the body one day a month. In exchange for allowing Lucanis to focus (more) on work for the other twenty-nine days, Spite may choose the activity for his allotted time.

A crumpled but tightly rolled scroll contains the list of proposed activities, written in Spite’s unmistakable handwriting - vivid red ink, likely expensive.

Three additional colors mark the annotations:

Black with gold ink: Rook

Blue ink: Lucanis

Deep purple ink: Emmrich

The outer side of the scroll bears a warning, courtesy of Lucanis:

"Manfred and Spite, do not forget to return the ink-making supplies to Bellara!"

Underneath, Bellara’s handwriting appeases:

"It's okay, Lucanis! They're having fun! ❤️"

Spite’s List of Activities (One Day Month)

Fight Compassion in the Hall of Lords

(Spite, I do not believe Compassion will fight you, but we can ask Seer Rowan if another spirit would be inclined. Regardless, you may engage in combat within the Hall. - Lucanis)

(Spite, what he means is we’ll find someone’s ass and kick it, don’t worry. - Rook)

Taste every plants in Harding's garden at the Lighthouse

(The plants in Harding’s garden are alchemical ingredients. This would be dangerous for both of you.  - Emmrich)

Make candle

See how high Lucanis and Spite can fly before they fall

Fall into ocean from flying too high

Neve

(Crossed out by all three colors. In the margins, Lucanis has written "¡No mames, Spite!" diagonally. Spite has retaliated by drawing his ‘signature’, a complex decagon filled with geometric designs - over it.)

Crow contract

(Rook: Hmm. Do we think Illario might be willing? Spite is at least a fledgling by now…)

(Lucanis, in very small script beneath: I am the First Talon. He will do as I say.)

Treasure hunting with Rook

(A small doodle of a smiling face with heart-shaped eyes has been added next to this.)

Dinner of Candles with Manfred

(Lucanis has crossed this out repeatedly, as though physically restraining himself from setting the scroll on fire.)

Curiosity and Spite visit the Necropolis

(I shall accompany you with pleasure, my darling. - Emmrich)

Satinalia

Crossed out. (Lucanis has written "NO" in precise, neat script, then drawn a long-stemmed arrow pointing toward this entry.)

Cooking with Rook

(Rook underlined this enthusiastically and scribbled: "See, Lucanis? Not everyone thinks I am too chaotic in the kitchen!")

Learn POISON Viago

(Crossed out by all three colors.)

FIRE

(Perhaps worn down by repeated requests, no one has crossed it out.)

Rook wear Crow Head helmet on date

(Sure thing, var malignitas! You know I love that helm. - Rook)

(Lucanis wrote, and lightly crossed out, No me puedes creer todas las pendejadas...)

Spite and Lucanis eat Joining Feast Day with Rook and Emmrich

(Rook: How do we think we could pull this off? Seems harder than the Maker’s eternal erection.)

(Lucanis: Mierda. That is not a feast day.)

(Spite: Do not care. Spite and Lucanis HAPPY. Want feast.)

(Emmrich: My eternal flames, perhaps I can consult with specialists in the Necropolis. Let us revisit this another year.)

At the bottom of the list, a final addition appears, scrawled hastily and signed with a simplistic drawing of a skeletal hand:

I LOVE YOU, family! Xx, Manfred.

The scroll bears various stains and should probably not be examined too closely. Evidence suggests it has traveled with its authors, likely crammed into a hidden cape pocket or retrieved from a location that suggests deep regret. Whatever the outcome, it is evident that Spite’s wishes were thoughtfully considered, if not entirely encouraged.

Lucanis, probably:

translations:

var malignitas - our Spite (elvish + vint slang)

¡No mames, Spite! - crude Spanish for no way, or you're kidding

No me puedes creer todas las pendejadas - I can't believe this shit

thanks to @doc-notarealone-salas for the excellent screenshot for my meme 💖

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

Same commissioner from before! I absolutely love your headcanons for Breadhead x Fallen Angel Fem!Reader, they are so AMAZING!! *chefs kiss* I’m here again to ask you about writing another headcanon request but this time with Protective Yandere Breadhead if you please with Fallen Angel Fem!Reader! Basically Yandere!Breadhead is crazily in love with Fallen Angel!FemReader and he’s unaware about her status as a fallen angel since she’s been keeping her identity a secret from The Gaslight District ever since she was violently casted out of heaven. So Breadhead assumes she’s immortal just like him and his family and thinks nothing of it. But he is protective of her since she’s new to The Gaslight District and she always seems to keep herself hidden from the public eye so Breadhead visits her when he’s off-duty to talk to her. He’s an extremely gentle giant to her and she loves him but fears him because she knows he’s a huge golem and a very strong one too, as she worries what would happen to her if he were to find out that she’s a fallen angel mortal. (She’s worried he’s gonna kill her) So! I can imagine Fallen Angel Fem!Reader wanting to do something nice for Breadhead by making a homemade gift basket to give him but she ends up getting into some trouble with some Rotlings who wanted to rob her for her basket, plus she got injured in the process. So! I can see Breadhead who was just walking along to visit Fallen Angel Fem!Reader and ends up seeing her getting injured and it’s not long before he kills the rotlings who were hurting her as Fallen Angel Fem!Reader watches him slaughter the rotlings with fear in her eyes and it’s not long before Breadhead locks his eyes on her wanting to check on her and the second he sees her black blood, he goes quiet and Fallen Angel Fem!Reader panics but I can see him not wanting to let her go after that, he does keep her identity a secret from his family but he does keep a close eye on her and never leaves her side. Sorry if this is too long! You can modify it into whatever you like if anything! Just know that I love your writing and I love to see more Gaslight District headcanons from you!

Thank you so much for commissioning me again! Hope I did your idea justice.

Yandere Breadhead x fallen angle Reader

★ Breadhead is a protective yandere, with a bit of delusions thrown in for good measure. He constantly worries about your safety, especially since you’re new to the Gaslight District. While he’s usually gentle and sweet with you, any perceived slight or threat can send him into a rage.

★ He interprets even the smallest gestures as signs of your love. Whenever you go out of your way to be nice to him, it makes his heart flutter. You’re consistent about it, too, never faltering in your kindness. Despite still being afraid of him. 

★ You try to trust him, but it can be hard. Even though he likes you, you know where his priorities lie. With the Smiling Dead. Breadhead’s family. Assuming that If push came to shove, he would pick them over you. In reality that would never happen. The family would love you, seeing how happy you make Breadhead. 

★ Around you, Breadhead is a gentle giant. His touch is always careful, as if he’s afraid of hurting you. Whether it’s brushing stray hair from your face or holding your hand. He always treats you like glass. “You don’t know how important you are.”

★ He visits you whenever he gets a rare day off. Sneaking away from the restaurant to spend some time with you. Usually he brings you a take-away box filled with leftovers from the night before. Keeping you company so you don't feel lonely.

★  One night, you saw some very lovely cooking knives in a store window. They made you think of him. So, naturally, you stole the set as a gift. That went smoothly, but while delivering it to him, a group of Rotlings cornered you. You tried to make a run for it, but they were faster. 

★ Worse still, your black blood spilled, its inky sheen staining the ground and drawing attention. Something you feared most. Before things could escalate further, Breadhead appeared, his towering figure illuminated by the dull glow of streetlights.

★ His goofy grin quickly faded as his gaze locked onto the scene, taking in your injuries and the Rotlings surrounding you. He destroyed them. The sound of bones snapping echoed through the alley. leaving no room for escape. Lucky for them, you begged him to stop. 

★ Panic sets in as you try to come up with an explanation. Before you can speak, Breadhead cups your face. “It doesn’t matter,” he says firmly. “You’re still my birdie.” After that day, Breadhead becomes even more protective of you. He keeps your secret from his family, but he’s always nearby. His visits become more frequent. Clingier than before. 

★ You’re grateful that he keeps your secret, but you can’t shake the fear of what might happen if his obsession ever turns against you. For now, you tread carefully, enjoying the moments you spend together while keeping one eye on the shadows.

[boopiemadz]

hii!! i just discovered your profile and i have to say it’s very nice to meet you :p criminal minds AND yj fan?? ughh i love it

idk if you’re currently taking requests like these!! but… i’ve been daydreaming about an au where cm and yj are in the same universe (like postprison reid era) the reader is one of the survivors and started working with the bau, keeping her past a secret with only emily knowing that she survived a plane crash (no more than that) for obvious hiring reasons

then she starts getting really close to spencer starting as friends because spencer sees the pain she’s carrying and without pushing her he helps her find some comfort

i personally love the friends to lovers trope and i know it’s probably unrealistic but i’m rewatching both yj and cm and i keep imagining a fic scenario where reader confesses some parts of her trauma back in the wilderness (reader being friends with natalie and the “good” team, not participating in any violent things but being part of the awful things they did to survive) not confessing everything because she feels like some things need to stay buried 💔 aaand spencer being like so supportive like i can’t believe you went through that and maybe remembering he read about that once

i’m so sorry if this is too much or too messy 😞 english isn’t my first language and i get too excited thinking about scenarios lol but please do it only if you’re interested! i know it takes a lot of work ☹️ anyways i’m very happy i found your acc!!! gonna read all of your travis fics

have a wonderful day/night :p 💗

I'm in love with this idea dude, this makes so much sense! Thanks for making me gasp and immediately go close my homework and write this 🤭. Sorry if this feels out of character or rushed but this was just a quick dump :) Ive also never written for Spencer before so it might be a little silly.

WARNINGS!

Mentions of death, suicidal ideation

[Crashing into you]

---

Joining the FBI wasn't the plan, well not originally. Working at a bistro for 4 years, getting an education and going through the FBI academy was way off your radar, but at some point your boring mundane life riddled with trauma became something more. There was no sign from the universe, or magical moment, it just happened. Getting your masters in Criminal justice was a way to distract your mind, to focus on something else and try to move on from the past. 

So walking into the FBI’s behavioral analysis unit, preparing to hand in your resume after completing the FBI academy felt like somewhat of a fever dream. 

“Emily Prentiss, unit chief” Said the dark haired lady standing up from her desk to shake your hand. “Y/N L/N” You extended your hand and took a deep breath. 

That day was the start of a new chapter, one where you weren't defined by your past. One where you could help others and change the world despite what you've been through. Of course your boss had to know, Emily was very understanding. She never pressed or asked for any details, but she was aware of the fact that you were a yellowjacket. 

The rest of the team never knew, and you liked it that way. The adjustment was huge, moving from your hometown in New Jersey to Virginia and having to completely redefine who you were, it was refreshing. After 16 months you finally had the hang of it, it was a hard job you couldn't deny that. But after all you'd been through, the things that got to the others seemed to fly right past you. 

Over time you started making friends.Yes,all your friends were from work, but you wouldn't have it anyother way. The girls were welcoming and treated you like you belonged. Girls nights and karaoke outings with JJ, Emily and Garcia were some of the best nights. Going to dinner at Rossi’s and laughing with the team. But one of the most important people in your life was Spencer. 

You were aware of his past, not all of it of course, but he seemed like someone you could trust. He was different, he didn't care about superficial things. Every conversation felt easy and seamless. Over time you two became close, quickly advancing from co-workers to friends hanging out outside of work, going to museums, going out for coffee, having movie nights at his apartment. You couldn't deny it, sure he was weird, but so were you. Both riddled with scars, both rejected from society, somehow it just made sense. 

During your time at the BAU, the memories of the wilderness had started to fade, slowly, like frost melting off sun-warmed glass. The longer you stayed in this world of logic and paperwork, of cases and killers, the more distant that other world felt. Less vivid. Less consuming. Less real.

But the wilderness has a way of finding you again. Always.

---

It began with dreams. Not the surreal, tangled kind, but vivid, visceral ones, memories that clawed their way back into your mind with terrifying clarity. At first it was once a week. Then every night. You’d wake up breathless, heart pounding, and unable to distinguish between then and now.

You started sleeping less. Upped your caffeine intake. Told yourself it was just a rough patch. But the exhaustion settled in your bones like winter. You were slower at work. Detached. Cases started to hit too close. Sometimes a scene or a victim's photo would make you freeze, your hands still, your mind gone elsewhere. No one said anything, but you knew they noticed.

Especially Spencer.

He’d started watching you more closely a few weeks back. He always noticed the details, how your laugh had become less frequent, how you stopped quoting random facts back at him, how you canceled movie night for the first time in two years. You hadn’t missed a single one since you joined the team.

And now… now even just showing up was a battle.

You walked into the bullpen late, clutching an iced coffee like it was armor. Today was a paperwork day, no field assignments, which meant fewer questions. You just needed to survive the day. That was all.

From across the bullpen, Spencer glanced up from his files, brows slightly furrowed. He’d been working across from you since you started, his calm presence usually comforting. You’d developed a quiet rhythm: passing notes, nudging feet under desks, sharing playlists. But lately, that rhythm had broken. Your side of it had gone silent.

“Are you going to Rossi’s tonight?” Spencer asked softly, like he was trying not to startle you.

You didn’t look up. “I don’t think so.”

He adjusted in his seat, posture more alert. “You know… if something’s going on, you don’t have to keep it to yourself.”

Your stomach twisted. “Yeah, well. I don’t have to tell you either,” you snapped, standing abruptly, your chair scraping across the floor.

You didn’t mean to lash out. You just did. The pressure was too much, the dam cracking. You stormed out of the bullpen, barely holding it together as you ducked into a multipurpose room and slammed the door shut behind you. The walls felt like they were closing in.

You slid down against the wall, breath caught in your throat, tears slipping from your eyes before you could stop them.

Everything you’d built here… everything you loved… would it survive if the truth came out? Would you?

You’d spent so long burying that part of yourself that now, when it clawed its way out, you didn’t know how to carry it.

A sob escaped before you could stop it. Then the door creaked open behind you.

“Spencer,” you whispered hoarsely, not even looking. “Go away. I don’t want you here.”

A pause. Then, his voice, soft, but steady. “No offense, but… I think you’re lying.”

You laughed, bitter and wet. “I’m serious. I don’t need you here.”

He walked in anyway and knelt beside you, not too close, just near enough to be present. His hand reached out, not to force, just to offer.

“Y/N,” he said gently. “You don’t have to tell me everything. But you don’t have to hold it all by yourself either.”

You stared at his hand, at the warmth and safety it offered. For a moment, you hesitated. Then, you reached out and took it.

He sat down beside you in silence.

Minutes passed. Maybe more. Then, you finally spoke.

“Do you remember, in the ’80s, that girls’ soccer team whose plane went down in the wilderness? They were stranded for 19 months.”

Spencer’s brows lifted slightly. “The Yellowjackets. Yeah. I remember. Cannibalism rumors, media frenzy. Most survivors went underground after the rescue.”

You nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the far wall.

“I was on that plane.”

His breath caught, almost imperceptibly.

“I survived those 19 months,” you said, quieter now. “But surviving… it didn’t end when we got rescued.”

You glanced at him then, just for a second. His face was unreadable, but his hand held yours a little tighter. You looked away again.

“I’m not going to tell you everything,” you said, voice thin. “But… I did things. Things I never want to say out loud. And now the memories are back. I can’t sleep. I can’t focus. And I’m scared. Not just of what I remember. I’m scared of what happens if people know.”

There was a long silence. You waited for judgment. Disgust. Fear.

But Spencer only leaned forward, voice barely above a whisper.

“You were a child. Trapped in an impossible situation. Surviving something like that… it doesn’t make you wrong or broken. It makes you human.”

You blinked at him, unsure whether to believe it.

He continued, voice soft but certain. “You don’t have to hide from me. Not now. Not ever.”

You shook your head. Not hard, not aggressive. Just… enough.

“There’s nothing to say that’s going to make it better.”

“Then don’t say it for that,” he replied, calm and steady. “Say it so you don’t have to carry it by yourself.”

You turned your head slightly, enough to look at him, not directly, just his hand still wrapped around yours, his thumb moving slowly, grounding you. A moment passed. Then another.

“I wasn’t supposed to come back,” you said, your voice nearly inaudible.

Spencer didn’t react, didn’t shift or flinch or ask for more. He just listened.

“There were so many of us at first. And then… there weren’t.” Your throat closed for a second, but you forced yourself to keep going. “Mari. Javi. Others. People who didn’t deserve to die. People who were good. Strong. Brave. Better than me.”

“They didn’t die because they were less deserving,” he said, careful not to sound like he was correcting you, just… reminding you.

You glanced at him. “But I didn’t live because I was more.”

He looked at you, really looked at you, and spoke with a quiet weight. “What makes you think you’re not?”

You didn’t have an answer. Not a real one. Only the storm in your chest.

“I did things, Spencer,” you murmured. “I made decisions I can’t forget. I crossed lines I wish I hadn’t. And I survived. But sometimes I wish I hadn’t. I wish I’d died out there with them.”

Spencer’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes, there was so much in them. Grief. Compassion. Steadiness.

“Why?” he asked gently.

Tears burned your eyes again. You couldn’t speak. You nodded.

“I think,” he said slowly, “you’re carrying the pain of what happened and the pain of still being here. And you’ve convinced yourself that you have to carry both alone.”

You looked away. “I’ve never told anyone. Not really.

---

The laughter of your teammates filtered through the open doors of Rossi’s backyard, mingling with the faint hum of jazz playing from the speakers and the clink of glasses and silverware. You hadn’t planned to come. Even an hour ago, you weren’t sure you’d make it past your front door.

But Spencer had asked again, softly, gently, like he wasn’t expecting a yes but hoping for one.

And now here you were. Standing in the glow of patio lights strung overhead, holding a glass of something fizzy you hadn’t taken a sip of, watching JJ and Garcia argue about something ridiculous in the corner. Everyone seemed so alive. So normal.

You weren’t sure what that felt like anymore.

Spencer appeared beside you quietly, as he always did, his presence like a tether.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low.

You gave a small nod. “As okay as I get lately.”

He didn’t press. Just gave a half-smile and jerked his head toward the side of the house. “There’s a bench over there. Quieter.”

You followed him without hesitation.

The bench was tucked beneath a tree, a little patch of shade and silence away from the buzz of the party. You sat. He sat beside you. Neither of you spoke for a moment.

Then you inhaled. Shaky. Bracing.

“There’s something we did,” you said, eyes on the grass. “Out there. We called it the hunt.”

Spencer didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He waited.

“It wasn’t just… for food.” Your voice cracked on the last word. “It started that way. But it became something else. Something darker. Some of us, some of them, started believing it meant something. That it was necessary. A ritual. A choice.”

He looked at you, his expression unreadable but soft.

“I didn’t start it. I didn’t want to believe in it. But…” You shook your head. “There were times I didn’t stop it either. Sometimes I looked away. Sometimes I joined in.”

Your chest tightened like it was caving in. “That’s all I’ll say. I can’t… I can’t tell you more than that.”

Spencer reached over, slowly, and took your hand. His fingers threaded through yours like he’d done it a thousand times before.

“You don’t have to,” he said.

You finally looked at him. Expecting disgust. Expecting distance.

But there was only Spencer. Quiet. Steady. Still here.

“I love you,” he said gently. “Even the parts you’re afraid to show me.”

Your breath caught.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay,” you admitted.

“That’s fine,” he said. “I’m not here because I need you to be okay. I’m here because you don’t have to do this alone.”

You blinked hard. A tear slipped free, but you didn’t turn away.

You let him hold your hand. You let the silence settle between you.

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t beyond saving.

[victoryai]

Hi victoryai!

Not sure if you have answered this before but what is some of your favourites and least favourites placement and why?

Most & Least favourite placements 😵‍💫 and why?

Hi!

I've never really thought about this 🤔 but........

No placement is "perfect" and no placement is"doom"

No shade to any placement. This is just an opinion. No intention of hurting anyone. I Know you guys are gonna come after me for this post besides I'm used to it

🧚MOST FAVORITES.

1. Sagittarius Sun: OMG I just go crazyyyyyyyy 😂for you guys. I love this sun placement so very much because I consider it to be a full package. This people are fortunate. They're always so lucky and even tend to escape problems easily. And their sense of humor is 😌over the top😂.

2. Gemini Venus: This is the ultimate ❤️Venus sign for me. This dudes are not even hard to love. Just spend time with them and you'll find yourself more socially active and more happy than usual. I'm not kidding 😌. Those rizz lines 👀😆...

3. Taurus sun: From what I've noticed, people with this placement get material things easily, with the least amount of stress. And OMG they know how to take care of themselves. You might be given the same amount of money with them but they utilize theirs so damn well 😌. And they always look so taken care of 🥰.

4. Venus in 10th house: This is a top pleasant placement because it portrays someone as a very agreeable person, easily liked and admired.This is someone that a random stranger can easily ask for directions because their public persona is very pleasing at first glance. And they don't find it hard in fitting in among people they barely know. That is the charm of this placement .

🧚LEAST FAVORITES

1. Sun in 6th house/Virgo stellium: In my opinion, this placement is a two edged sword ⚔️. It can cut both ways. I've noticed some patterns with this placement. 1st pattern is that category of people who tend to be very strong, adamant and brave, standing face to face with danger, and have an upper hand against their enemies in times of conflict. 2nd pattern is that category of people who work like their live depends on it, constantly striving for perfection (which is good). They literally overwork themselves with every detail. Someone who is professionally inclined with an analytical mind. 3rd pattern consist of people who have battled with a very serious illness in their lifetime or someone who is frequently ill.

This is just my observation. A sun in 6th houser/Virgo stellium may or may not fall into this categories.

2. Sun in 12th house: Sun is the center of attraction. The source of light Everything revolves around it. I don't really like this placement because I believes it hides the most important planet in a foggy house. This guys need good energy around them because of their sensitive nature. Their need to be left alone is too much. You can never know what they're thinking or what their next move is, they're just so concealed. And they feel deeply too.

3. 7th lord in 1st house: For some reason, people who have this placement tend to have spouse who are so much in their faces, like spouses who are somewhat confrontational. I don't know if you get me? And I've also noticed that whatever their spouses do, it always gets to them and incites a reaction. Its like triggering someone. But some people like this so....🤷.

4. Mars in Cancer: Underrating these people will be a very mistake on my part because they have an inbuilt pain absorber. They see it, feel it, keep it and move on. I happened to be interested in the case of a cartel Boss and I was like I'm sure he has an exalted Mars. So I decided to check it out and turns out he was a Cancer Mars 😯. I was so shocked . Forget that Cancer is an emotional sign , these guys fight with strategy, not just on impulse like Aries.

[hyralc]

my localization of mtgjp's comic

[chiquilines]

op you are the only person on this entire website feeding me Miryumi. Bless, and keeep making more jbsjhbcsbcjkdzb its so fucking gpood and ima soa hungry

My one job is keeping the miryumi community well fed and by god am i committed

[digitaldiseas3]

i HATEEE when movies or shows or COMMERCIALS include tarot but clearly nobody involved actually knows anything about tarot so every time 100% without fail they pull the death card and everyone freaks out. bitch if you knew anything about tarot you would love and welcome the death card. it’s the tower that you should really be shitting bricks at

[pipskippy]

flax and nina you will always be famous to me!!!!

[indreamyhead]

I saw some posts where people said that the last part of the last episode pull them out of the show completely because there was no way that Sara will declare her love for Isaac so suddenly. They said it came out of nowhere, and it was ridiculous and rushed.

And... I just disagree? They have just been through an entire lifetime of hardship in just a short amount of time so OF COURSE their bound would naturally develop quicker than a normal pace with a normal safe setting. For me, it was beautiful and heartbreaking. And it was so tragic to see him refusing her offer to go to California together, his wife and son deaths were still haunting him even after realizing that maybe he could live again and heal with a new life with her and their fond family.

It was very sad, but I was so sure than one of the two adult will pass to the other side by the end of their journey. And as always it's the brokenhearted anti-hero who save everyone who dies. At least he was not alone at the end.