#roadkill spoilers

[desolationlovers]

ah yes the black butler arcs

representation win? jack the ripper is trans!

P. T. Barnum’s Child Trafficking

titanic with zombies

a pretty normal murder mystery all things considered

Fags?

gaslighting a girl to magically create mustard gas potions

victorian child invents kpop stan culture

illuminati child sacrifice

evil twin has framed you for murder

[saryasy]

anyway still can't get over how we went from this

TO THIS

[asydicsydney]

The Man who is Not Tall and The Man who is Not Short and their Labyrinth crates mentioned in year 12 finale and year 13 premiere, and I hope hope hope that means FOW news or a new book because PLEASE

[mettywiththenotes]

I'm gonna be real folks. Metty's not doing so good

[residentialrabbit]

My favorite CGs I've done from Repurpose! I enjoyed experimenting with the lighting and perspective in these.

[blistering-typhoons]

did- did, my, baby boy pat butcher accidentally assist in a murder?

[i-hear-a-sound]

must draw. ilia

[parfaitblogs]

roadkill ❀ s. reid x reader

in which a vacant home sits awaiting for spencer reid's return, and then he sits waiting for yours. 

pairing: spencer reid x reader genre: hurt/comfort tags: established relationship. cm s12 spoilers. post prison reid. most certainly not canonically accurate. in fact diana reid is nowhere to be seen. canon’s not real anyways i know him better than the cm writers. past non prison reid trauma mentioned. reader has hair long enough for a ponytail (?) word count: 2.6k a/n: happy parfaitblogs post prison spencer reid fanfic to a searows song to all that celebrate.

The air was uncomfortably still in apartment 23. Thick, coating every piece of furniture, as if it was some incredibly translucent fog. Everything had been moved, and yet nothing was different. Empty mugs sitting in his sink with a coffee stain that reached a centimetre from the top, shoes dispersed on the floor by the front door. He just might've gone crazy in prison, considering he was pretty sure he could spot the layer of dust on each and every surface. 

Your things mixed with his own. A blanket he doesn't remember ever purchasing in a crumpled ball on the couch, your laptop sitting awkwardly atop his own on his desk. But you weren't there. He could literally tell from the lack of movement happening in the space, and the fact that your bag wasn't situated anywhere his eyes could see. He also just knew you wouldn't be here. He hadn't spoken to you in three months, not even through words on a page. He was sure he'd not want to talk to you either, if the roles were reversed. 

He wants you here, regardless.

He doesn't like his apartment without you in it. It's dull, and he's too on edge to do anything about it. Letting the oppressive air suffocate him in his new position on the couch, veins still peeking through his cold skin even as his hands sweat from your blanket he had wrapped them in. It smelled of you, and it was the closest comfort he could find in an otherwise discomforting time. 

He wants you here. 

Dinner was a steaming plate of nothing. No food he could eat without being sick sitting in any of his cupboards, for his appetite had grown bland during his time in prison, and you were not a plain crackers eater. He misses your cooking dearly. He misses your rambling about the different spices you were trying out that evening. 

He wants you here. 

His shower was cold. Icy water to rinse the running sweat from his constantly uneasy state. No shampoo, despite how badly his curls needed to be treated nicely again. It was shampoo you had bought for him; shampoo you had lathered through his hair time and time again as you taught him how to take care of his curls to keep them pretty, as you had said. The smell now made him sick.

He wants you here.

His bed remained untouched. The indent of where your head lay in his pillows still there, sheets and duvet wrinkled from your no doubt hurried job at making it that morning. He refused to get into it. Instead, he curled up on the floor at the foot of the bed, like a dog guarding the piece of furniture. His knees at his chest, arms around his legs. Positioned in a ball to keep him as small as possible, probably. Exhaustion never came, and his brain never silenced. He spent who knows how long staring at the doorway, out into his living room, thinking. Longing. Ruminating. 

He needs you here. 

Sunlight was peeking into his apartment through the blinds. Which he hadn't really noticed until he tore his eyes away from the medullary rays he was intensely studying, at the sound of his front door creaking open. He didn't say anything as he heard the familiar noise of your charm adorned bag rattling in the space. In fact, he almost smiled at it. He might've, if not for the aching hole in his chest. 

He had no idea if you knew he was coming home until he heard your breath hitch. You were still far away, standing by the back of his couch, your hand halfway through tugging your hair out of its ponytail. Frozen in time once you had spotted him, confirming that no. You had no idea Spencer Reid was coming home today. 

It was an awkward back and forth of breaths, and eye contact that he couldn't break even if he wanted to. You were real, and you were here, and even though you were staring at him with a heart shatteringly broken expression, he felt relief heat his glacial veins. You had not turned on your heel and sprinted away from him, and you were not screaming at him either. 

He watched your muscles relax and your brain seemingly sink back into your body as the initial shock wore off, your feet now carrying your body over to his position on the floor. 

He untangled his limbs before you reached him, grimacing at the ache in all his joints, ignoring the stickying feeling of the wound in his thigh reopening, blood coating his pants once more. 

You didn't ignore it. 

Nor did you say anything. Clocking the deep red stain on his otherwise white sweatpants, and disappearing into his ensuite to collect his first aid kit and a cloth. He couldn't count on his hands how many times you had stitched him up after he had come home from a case throughout all these years, the act awfully habitual by now. Yet, he was carefully watching your every move like it was the first time, responding to every signal you gave him to move or still. 

Delicate fingers that brushed against his thigh encouraged goosebumps onto his skin, his sweatpants now in a heap on the floor next to your two bodies. His legs stretched across your crossed ones, a quiet, "Sorry," being the first word you said to him, as he winced at the gauze pressing against the open wound. 

He murmured back an, "It's okay," while your hands wrapped a bandage around the limb, your heart rate increasing with fluster as you felt his gaze locked onto your face. 

You aren't sure what to say to him after you finish dressing the injury, and so you stand up, heading towards his closet to pull out a fresh pair of pants for him to wear instead. You weren't quite sure if he actually wanted to speak to you. For three months, you were convinced he didn't. 

He did want to be near you though, you learned. Trailing after you like a lost puppy as you moved through the motions of your post work routine silently. You didn't argue about it, even as he sat in the bathroom while you showered, or watched you intently as you boiled water in the kettle, and made a cup of tea for yourself and him. You didn't ask if he wanted one, and he was eternally grateful you had done it anyways. 

Two cups of tea sat domestically on the coffee table, a sight you had sorely missed throughout these past weeks. He was curled up on the couch, his head in your lap, your fingers entangled in messy curls and balancing your focus between his unsteady breathing, and the old cartoon you had put on for visual stimulation in the space. 

A conversation was needed to be had. One you most certainly did not want to have. You broke the silence to begin it, anyways.

"I wasn't allowed to go see you."

If not for the words themselves, then the cracking of your voice and the obvious heaviness of a sob lodged in your throat broke his heart even more. He had a lot of practice  recently in being quiet voluntarily, and yet he was truly at a loss for words right now. 

"I know," he decides on saying. "I kept you off the list."

"Why?"

The explanation felt incredibly meaningless now. It had at least made sense three months ago. And, worse than that, it was an unfair reason. He should not have decided for the both of you your limitations on seeing him based on insecurities.

"I didn't want you to see me like that," he admits, each word heavy on his tongue, for he could feel the way your fingers stilled in his hair, and he was sure your shoulders had just deflated. 

You swallow down your snarky defence, knowing it wasn't helpful or even worth it right now. Instead, you nod your head, silently, and take a few beats to decide how to respond to him. 

"I just wanted to see you," you whisper, eyes transfixed on the television screen, though your attention was anywhere but. "Just once, Spencer. JJ wouldn't even give me updates on how you were doing."

His throat bobs, and you look down at him, unsurprised to see his eyes studying your face already. 

"I know. I asked her not to. I didn't want you to worry any more than you already were."

You knew he wouldn't do well in prison. If not for how mind numbingly boring it would've been for a brain as active as his, then for how unsafe he would've been as a federal employee. Everyday, you feared the phone calls you received from any of his colleagues, waiting for the one to inform you of his death within those concrete walls. 

To know he was doing so bad he didn't even want you to know about it was quite possibly worse than any fear you had had the entire time he was in prison.

"I pretended to write to you," he informs you, quietly. "It kept me sane. Writing letters, even though you'd never receive them."

"Do you still have them?"

"No."

"Oh. Okay."

He hates how small you sound in your response. He hates himself for throwing away those letters. They may not have been the most pleasant, but they were an insight into his life during prison. One he was sure you were keenly interested in. Never mind the confessions of love he had jotted down. Daily. Reminding himself over and over what he was surviving for. Who he was surviving for. 

"I made a friend this week," he says. "I think he's a friend. He used to be in the Bureau too. We bonded over that and books. He got me my own cell, next to his. We've been playing chess. He's kept me being a federal employee quiet, and kept me safe."

The confusion that had originally swept across your face settled upon realising what he was doing, and your lips twitched upwards. Grateful once more for his eidetic memory.

"I read As You Like It today. I'm not sure if you've read it, or any of Shakespeare's works. I don't know how I've never asked that. I wish I had. I will if I get out of here. I think you'd like Rosalind. She's hilarious. She reminds me a bit of you. She has an entire monologue scolding someone because she doesn't love a man who loves her dearly, while simultaneously berating that man for being a shepherd."

"I read Romeo and Juliet in high school," you say, staring down at him, and his chest puffs in a small laugh. Your heart swells in your own. 

"I miss you everyday," your smile falls again at his words, as does his own, and you instead feel your stomach sink into the same inextinguishable black hole that permanently resided there. "I'll get out of here one day. Even if it's in twenty years. I selfishly hope you never move on if it takes that long. I'll be okay if you do. I love you."

"How many more do you have?" you ask him, fingers trailing down his face, tracing gentle patterns on the skin absentmindedly, for your mind was busy whirring about your first introduction to his time in prison.

"If I think hard enough, all of them," he answers. "It's hard to focus on much right now."

"That's okay," you say, chewing on your lower lip, staring at the two half drunk teas in front of you. "You don't have to tell me another one now."

He only nods his head, and you can only be silent from then on, unsure of what else to say to him that isn't a plead for what you had missed over three months of no contact. 

He encourages you to move to his bedroom after his body falls asleep on you once, before jolting awake after only a few seconds. You comply, and intertwined fingers drag him to the bed you had become exceedingly familiar with. 

He had never felt like a child in the present his whole life. Only ever when he looked back on the years before did he truly recognise he was young. Too young to have lost his dad. Too young to be solely responsible for his mother's health care. Too young to be battling a drug addiction. Every key moment in his life was a violent reminder of how fast he was forced to grow up. Simultaneously, he was unable to stop the time from passing. 

And yet, as you cradled his head in your hands against your chest in his bed, your heartbeat providing him a welcome comfort that you were alive and he was with you, he felt like a child. He felt too young, and, for the first time in his life, he did not feel intelligent enough to deal with any of this. 

He had caught a glimpse of his twelve year old self attending high school when he first arrived in prison. A small fish lost in an ocean of sharks. Here, he ponders whether or not that version of himself ever actually left his body, or if he was simply twelve years old and navigating this adult life fraudulently. 

"I don't know how to deal with this," he whispers into the air.

He despises the way your caressing hand stops. Though, he doesn't mention it. 

"Time, I guess," you murmur, chest rumbling against his head.

"I hate time."

"Yeah," you agree, quietly. "Time is the best healer, though."

"I hate that idiom."

"You suddenly hate a lot of things?" you ask, eyebrows shooting up. 

"Mm," he nods his head, and exhales a sharp breath of air. "Not you."

A quip manifests on your tongue, but you bite it down, unsure if he will actually comprehend your humour right now. "That's good. I don't hate you either." 

Silence settles over your bodies, though, unlike the air when he had entered the night before, it's much more pleasant. 

He breaks the quiet with a whisper. "Thank you for not being mad at me. I'm sorry I didn't let you come see me."

You want to say you're mad at him for the sake of the principle. It wasn't fair, and the way you had felt during those three months was neglected and uncared for. But then the man you had been upset with had come home, and you're very quickly learning his reasons for it all. Anger dissipates quickly when it comes to Spencer Reid, you've found. 

You also believe if you had seen him the way he is now, but without the ability to hold him the way you are, and a piece of glass separating your bodies, you'd probably be a lot less composed. 

"It's okay," you mumble. "Thank you for not making me see you like that."

He only nods his head as a response. 

He fell asleep sometime after your last comment, and you allowed yourself the time to finally look at him intensely.

His skin was bruised. Purple and yellow painting the skin all over, and you fought the urge to search for all the other marks all over his body. You were already blinking back tears; you weren't sure how much more you could handle. 

Quietly, as your hands drop from the contusions on his face to your sides, you whisper earnestly, "I love you too."

And as his breathing hitches for only a moment, you're sure he hears you, even while asleep. 

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[illubean]

Could I get headcanons for Feitan, Illumi, Leorio, and Chrollo falling for gn!reader who by all means seems like a strong, nuturing, emotionally stable individual but every once in awhile casually says or does smthin that makes people go "Oh you're a little fuckin nuts, actually"

(e.x.: Most of their D.I.Y. furniture is made of different kinds of bone, morbidly interested in the more gorey parts of their jobs, probably works in a field that allows them to be around the dead often like a taxidermist or a mortitian, highkey just unabashashedly a morbid little freak™️ whenever it comes up naturally in conversation but otherwise comes across as just an attentive lil guy you could bring home the average parents would love.)

HXH Men with a Morbid!S/o

Characters: Leorio Paladaknight, Illumi Zoldyck, Chrollo Lucilfer, Feitan Portor Type: Headcanons, Gn!reader

this is so me

Warnings: dead things and body parts and stuff

Leorio Paladaknight

being an aspiring doctor, Leorio thought that your knowledge on both human and animal anatomy was pretty useful

at first he didn't think much about your job and just assumed you were some type of doctor or biologist or something

he often asks you questions as he studies and you're a pretty good tutor

the first time Leorio realized you were kinda weird is when one day you were walking down the street and saw some roadkill

and you were like "aww too bad, the skin and bones are too damaged to harvest"

and you kept walking like it was normal while he was like ?!!??!?

or you guys were having a normal conversation and you say something like

"if you died i'd taxidermy you and re-articulate your skeleton so you'd be with me forever <3"

1 taxidermizing humans is illegal and 2 WHAT

he is cold sweating wtf did he get himself into

when he comes to your house for the first time and sees a bunch of bones, animal skins and wet specimens he damn near passes the fuck out

how do you just casually have dead things and remains around your house!?

AND WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU MADE YOUR COFFEE TABLE OUT OF CAMEL BONES?

he is freaking the fuck out and you're just like "dw everything is ethically sourced :D"

yeah he thinks you're a freak and he is too fearful to break up with you ever (not like he was planning to anyways)

Illumi Zoldyck

whatever drew Illumi to you had to have been some type of power

aside from that power, to Illumi you were relatively normal and had a good grip on your emotions which made you a perfect candidate

that being said he could care less what your job was, you'd just end up working for or with him eventually

when he started bringing you around the estate, you often sought out their guard dog Mike and Illumi couldn't think of why

that is until you came back one day with a human femur and bright smile on your face

"... where did you even get that?" "From one of Mike's victims. If I collect enough I could make a whole set of bar stools!"

he blinked at you and chose to ignore your statement

i mean, to each their own am i right?

so you have ah hobby, big deal

Illumi just thinks you're pretty normal personality wise until you randomly but casually drop information about what you do in your free time or have in your home

so now whenever he has a job Illumi calls you in for cleanup

you get to do.... whatever it is you do and there's no evidence of a dead body left behind, it's a win win

Chrollo Lucilfer

he couldn't care less what your job is because it's probably not worse than his 😭

he didn't really notice anything "morbid" about you until he asked about your jewlery

you wore things like resin caster bug pendants or bird skull earrings and stuff

he just assumed they were fake and you bought them because they looked badass

but then you told him you make it all YOURSELF

he is intrigued

he doesn't really question you past that because you were probably buying the bones and stuff somewhere (spoiler alert you're not)

what really caused him to think was when you casually just picked up a dead rat off the floor in some abandoned building you were exploring and suck it in your pocket

bro was so confused

"What do you need that for?" "To make a new necklace :3"

yeah now he knows that your odd taste in jewelry goes deeper than just that

he won't judge you though, if anything you're a better person than he is considering you don't kill things yourself

he is literally a murderer and a thief and has committed like 3467633788 crimes so he couldn't judge even if he wanted to

so now when he sees dead animals and what not he bags them up and brings them to you

he likes to sit in on your cleaning and making process

you seem like a perfectly normal and sweet person to everyone else but Chrollo knows about your freaky little hobby and it just makes him like you even more

Feitan Portor

I feel like for you and Feitan to even be acquainted you have to be part of the troupe

whatever you do outside of it is your business

buttttttt since you are his s/o and Feitan is probably homeless he crashes wherever you are

thus him finding out about your hobby and other job

out of everyone on this list he is the most interested

he too is a morbid little freak

he goes with you to find things and will help you with the cleaning/taxidermy or whatever process if you let him

what he doesn't understand though is why you don't just kill the things you want instead of hunting for already dead things

sometimes he will go catch like a squirrel or something and bring it back to you like a cat and tell you he found it like that

Fei baby. No the fuck you didn't

after doing what you're doing for so long you can tell what caused an animal to die but you wouldn't tell him that

he's just so cute and wants to be supportive of your hobby <3

[izvmimi]

ember - izuku x reader

cw: spoilers to the end of the manga. reader with vaguely described quirk. izuku and reader are married. short and sweet. a/n: establishing my own new canon, tyvm.

On an evening out in September, six months after you tie the knot with Izuku Midoriya and three years after Izuku returns to active Pro Hero duty, you find out three crucial things about him.

One, Izuku meant it when he said he loves you possibly more than life itself; two, Izuku might not have lost all of the embers of One for All, after all, and three, Izuku is a fucking idiot.

Your body feels unbelievably rigid as though you were in a car accident, and in a way, you were, and your guts should be strewn all over this sparsely populated street if not for the fact that you’re wrapped up, safe, cocooned in your lover’s protective hold, his back curved over yours, and the truck that should have crushed you both instead is partially crumpled itself at its front end, metal twisting around Izuku’s raised forearm. The two of you are panting heavily, the adrenaline coursing through your veins giving you the sensation of having just run a marathon, and he’s looking at you with frantic eyes, scanning you for safety. That long familiar green spark in the air surges around him like electricity, the glow in his green eyes, fading quickly.

“Are you okay?” he asks, breathlessly, not out of exertion but out of shock.

“I-Izuku, you’re not…”

He still hasn’t realized what has just happened, focusing on the fact that you’re alive and okay and didn’t turn into roadkill right in front of his very eyes. Unwedging his somehow intact forearm from the grille of the truck, he turns his body completely to you, rubbing his hands over your shoulders and down your arms, and helps you rise to your feet. The static feeling emanating from him slips away second by second and your lips wobbles as you’re at a loss for words.

“Are you okay?” he repeats again. He’s patting you over quickly, looking for broken bones, bruised skin, and your mind is still racing, computing what just happened and why you’re still alive.

He shouldn’t have been able to cross that distance so quickly - you were just waving to him from across the street, the road clear when you looked before crossing, and in seconds the vehicle had barreled at full speed out of nowhere; he couldn’t have moved before screaming your name fast enough, maybe years ago when you were both teenagers with impossible superpowers but not now, years later with superhuman gifts dwindled to nothing. 

He couldn’t have, but he did. 

“I-Izuku, the suit… you’re not wearing your suit,” your voice carries shakily, and as you see his eyebrows unscrunch and raise instead in surprise, he turns, and sees the stopped vehicle, the broken glass and distorted metal, a man hurriedly jumping out of the passenger seat and shakily apologizing, and finally his torn jacket sleeve and it occurs to him.

“Oh, fuck, I’m not.”

—

You watch Mei type on her computer, not bothering to try to decipher her thoughts from her facial expressions, knowing full well that she’s never been readable before. Even years after high school you find that this continues to be true, but the blank but friendly and entranced look on her face is somehow pleasant the more you think about it, and you let yourself let out the breath you’ve been holding.

It’s been just a few weeks since the night Izuku’s Quirk - at least some of it - flickered back into life for the first time, and after you’d berated him for using his literal body to shield you from a danger that could have killed you both, you’d taken the time that evening to use your own Quirk to see if something about his body had gone haywire. To both of your surprises, you’d gotten a flicker of something similar to the old him, but unsure and unwilling to get either of your hopes up, you’d decided to consult with Mei and other experts who worked with Quirk pathophysiology and augmentation (a few of which you’d taken courses with yourself years ago), and now you were back in Mei’s laboratory, trying to see if you could get to the bottom of this.

Since then, the following strange things had happened:

You’d dropped a plate and Izuku had dove for it, the wisp of a Blackwhip tendril just brushing it before it ultimately crashed to the ground, the two of you too stunned to speak.

A group of Izuku’s students heckled him as he leaned in to accept your kiss outside UA, and all of you ended up in a purple haze before you knew it.

Izuku’s midday nap on the couch found him face to face with the ceiling when you finally discovered him, and

A sudden unintentional use of Fa Jin made things very interesting in bed.

“I guess my baby’s doing a better job than I thought it would!” Mei grins. You hunch over her screen, while Izuku’s too hooked up to a tangle of wires to get a good view of the screen himself, and she compares Quirk levels from the beginning of the suit’s conception to now, a previously long-standing flat graph with a steadily rising bump. 

“A miracle,” you whisper under your breath.

“I find that personally offensive.” Mei replies, her facial expression lacking the cheek to compare to her statement as she watches Izuku watch you from behind the glass. She presses a button on the intercom; Izuku grins at you while Mei gives him the instructions to try to activate Blackwhip one more time, and you can feel warmed all the way through. 

—

Slowly but surely, over time, the Quirk levels start to recover, and you, Izuku and Mei try your best to keep it under wraps.

Of course, Katsuki finds out with direct questioning, the purple haze event showing up on an anonymous internet forum propelling him to show up at your doorstep and demand personally that Izuku tell him if he got his quirks back or not.

“We’re not sure how permanent this is, Kacchan,” he offers. Katsuki might as well spit on the ground before him in protest but you’re seated in the living room, and even Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight has enough decorum to not make a mess in someone else’s home.

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Midoriya!”

“It’s not a lie!” Izuku insists, and he turns his gaze to you for backup which you swiftly provide.

“Listen, we’re not sure yet, and they’ll probably never get back to normal, but he’s doing his best.” Katsuki grimaces, which annoys you further.

“You’ll get your damn rematch, be patient.” you add, rolling your eyes. Katsuki leers, and his partner pats him on the shoulder.

“He’s just excited,” she translates for him, and Katsuki mumbles something about not needing her for translation every time which doesn’t waver her smile one bit.

“Excited to get his ass beat,” you murmur, reaching over to pour her some more tea. Izuku and Katsuki both stare at you, Izuku with nervous concern and Katsuki with irritation, and just like old days, you and Katsuki’s arguing match begins anew. 

—

As the two of you brush your teeth and prepare for bed, you do your nightly routine of checking how strong Izuku's reawakened Quirk is with your hand on his chest, and he presses his free hand over yours.

“You know, my favorite part of this is you’ll finally start to worry less.” He chuckles and squeezes your hand gently.

You let the water run and clear spittle from the sink, and gargle before you answer, your hand still captive by his, then look at him.

“To be honest, I’ll never stop worrying about you, Izuku. Even if you become God.”

But you understand what he means. You’ve had many a nightmare about suit malfunction, only a few of these you’ve shared with him, among other things that have to do with being a Pro Hero in the capacity he insists to be in. This is a small help. 

A small bit of providence.

He expected this answer, lips pulling into a smile as he takes your hand fully and pulls the fingertips to his lips to kiss them. 

“I’m glad that won’t change,” he replies.

Moments later, you’re laid in bed together, and as you both muse on the potentially altering future in quiet, love-flushed cheeks and hands intertwined, he turns to you suddenly.

“There’s one thing I’m still missing,” he says.

Your eyes refocus to him. He’s pensive now, not sad or upset, but thoughtful. You move closer to kiss him on the lips once before nodding for him to continue.

“What are you missing?”

“Danger Sense,” he says.

“But everything else is back,” you reply. He nods, letting his arm drape around your waist.

“Yeah, but I think I liked that one the most.”

You snort lightly. “Not being able to lift a train, or fly, but 'Super Anxiety' was your favorite?”

You’re making light of the issue to keep the mood from getting too heavy, but he frowns, and you frown back, apologetically. 

“Well, ‘Super Anxiety’ made it so that I knew when bad things were about to happen, and often these bad things could involve you.”

He has the tiniest scrunch to his eyebrows, one that in another situation would have compelled you to rub out with your fingertips, but now is not the time to be playful.

You twist your mouth to the side and a few more moments pass between you, before you add:

“I don’t think you need it, though.”

He raises an eyebrow, and you press a kiss to his forehead.

“All this came back because you wanted to protect me,” you remind him. “You moved without thinking, for me, as always, like you knew I needed you. That's better than Danger Sense by far.”

His face softens as he cups yours in his hands. You're thankful that you've reached him.

“Always for you,” he says.

Even if this miracle is transient and despite your best efforts, his quirk levels fall back to normal instead of steadily growing, the love he has for you, and the love you have for him, will never, ever burn out.

[cleolinda]

Tuesday’s debate between Trump and his opponent Kamala Harris in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, had several eyebrow-raising moments but none moreso than when Trump, echoing his latest online-born conspiracy, baselessly accused thousands of legal migrants in Springfield, Ohio, of stealing, killing, and eating pet dogs off the street.

The conspiracy was fact-checked in real time by ABC’s David Muir, who noted that city officials had looked into the claim and found it to be baseless. But the damage was already done.

Nearly a week later, Vance found himself once again answering for his running mate’s actions after days of shocking fallout in Springfield, where residents have reported fliers dropped by the Ku Klux Klan as well as several threats of bombings or mass shootings — the latest of which, at Wittenberg University, occurred Saturday night just hours before Vance would go on the air.

[…] On CNN, he seemingly admitted that his claims were lies, then continued by saying that he would keep spreading such tales, even knowing them to be untrue, if they resulted in the media talking about issues he claimed were still just as real despite the deception.

“If I have to create stories so that the American media actually pays attention to the suffering of the American people, then that's what I'm going to do,” said the senator.

This is DANGEROUS shit aimed at the Haitian immigrant community for political gain

that is going to get people hurt if not outright killed, and this motherfucker just admitted it’s not true. Which is maybe the most important thing you will read about the whole ordeal.

“But I saw pictures!!!”

Spoiler: the geese were roadkill.

The woman behind an early Facebook post spreading a harmful and baseless claim about Haitian immigrants eating local pets that helped thrust a small Ohio city into the national spotlight says she had no firsthand knowledge of any such incident and is now filled with regret and fear as a result of the ensuing fallout.

Backlash was swift, with replies ranging from, “I find it strange that a self-professed ‘hillbilly’ doesn’t know what whole chickens look like,” to, “HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW WHAT CHICKENS LOOK LIKE WITH THEIR LEGS ATTACHED YOU F****ING DIPSHIT.” Oliver Alexander, an open-source intelligence analyst, weighed in, sharing images of plucked chickens looking remarkably similar to whatever was being grilled in the video. “Clearly chicken you weirdo. Dude’s never seen chicken that wasn’t dino-nugget shaped,” he wrote.

[runawrites-blog]

Where The Fuck Did She Learn That? (Deadpool x Reader)

Summary: After accidentally teaching his daughter a swear word, Wade tries to teach her other words before you come home. You still end up finding out. (Female Reader) Word Count: 1,850 Warnings: Swearing. Kid-Fic. Wade is a Girl Dad. Minor Arguing. No Y/N. No Deadpool and Wolverine Spoilers. A/N: The child character is named Bea (nickname Bee) after Bea Arthur from Golden Girls because, in the flashback scene from Deadpool, we see Wade wearing a shirt with her likeness on it. Also, someone asked me to tag them in my other Deadpool fics but I am not sure if that means ALL Deadpool fics I write or just series, so I didn't tag them. I am new to people wanting to be tagged in my writing, so please if you want to be tagged clarify what you want to be tagged in so I (a dumbass) can understand it. Sorry ^^ Crossposted on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58276927

---

“There she is!”

Wade smiled softly when his one-year-old daughter babbled happily as he picked her up from her playmat on the ground, hoisting her up over his head and making her giggle excitedly. He grinned back at her as he bounced her a few times before settling her on his hip, nodding along to her mostly nonsensical babbles. You’d told him that after around twelve months you two could expect her first words and he was now eagerly waiting for it every day.

He would ever admit that to you because he knew you’d tease him relentlessly about it and as any of his readers knew you were only allowed to do that in bed. But as to not do you injustice, he had to admit that most of the time you weren’t teasing him about how he interacted with his daughter, that most of the time you thought it was absolutely endearing.

“Did you have fun stuffing shapes in boxes? Bet that was absolutely riveting!”

The excited way in which he always spoke to her never failed to make her gurgle excitedly, bouncing in his grasp as her little hands reached up to pat all over his face. Wade just chuckled at her excitement, leaning over to examine the toys on the ground, pretending to be deep in thought.

“So help me out here, the star-shaped block goes into the star-shaped hole right? And the triangle one into the triangle-shaped hole?” He mused, crouching down and pointing at the corresponding shapes and nodding along to his daughter’s babbles. “Got it. Thanks, Bee.”

It was a nickname you two had used for the baby ever since your pregnancy because she had always moved around a lot, making you two call her a busy bee. And when your daughter had been born you two had decided on a fitting name but since you had so adamantly fought Wade on how you couldn’t call a baby Bee and he had not really wanted to argue with you after you’d just given birth, he’d agreed. And like that, you two had decided on the name Bea, only for you to later find out Wade had suggested it because he just loved ‘Golden Girls’.

“How about we get you a snack?” Wade asked in a soft voice, bouncing Bea on his hip as he made his way to the kitchen. “I could try apple bunnies like Mommy makes them but don’t get upset when they come out looking like apple roadkill instead! Deal?”

He had out his pinky at Bea and she reached for it, grabbing it with her whole hand and shaking it around a little. Wade just shrugged at that.

“Close enough!”

Sitting her down in her highchair, Wade started cutting up some apples for Bea, humming along in agreement to whatever she was babbling about behind him. None of her words were distinguishable as of yet but she loved babbling to herself. You’d once said that she truly was Wade’s child because he could never keep his mouth shut, either. When he’d called you fucking rude for it you had almost tackled him with how fast you’d tried to cover his mouth, chiding him for using foul language around Bea. His joke about how you could always gag him had only made you roll your eyes.

“Almost done, Bee. Just keep telling your story. Daddy’s listening.”

As he readied his knife to try and cut into the apple twice, so the two cut-in areas could be lifted to simulate ears, he slipped up and sliced right into his thumb. Dropping the knife onto the counter he shook his hand a little.

“Fuck!”

“Fuck!”

Cut thumb and apple forgotten, Wade felt his blood run cold and he froze in his spot before slowly turning his head to see whether or not he had heard that right. When he looked over his shoulder he saw Bea giggling happily, clapping her tiny hands as she repeated the word over and over again.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

He was dead. You were going to come back and find out that your child’s first word was a swear word and that it was his fault, on top of that. Then you were going to tear him a new one and not in a way he would like you to. Panicking he rushed over to the highchair, crouching down in front of it and shaking his head.

“No, no, Bee. You can’t say that. It’s a bad word.”

“Fuck!”

“No!” Wade exclaimed in desperation as his daughter giggled on and repeated the word. “Can you be a sweetheart for Daddy and stop saying that? Please?”

It was dumb to try and reason with a baby, he knew that. None of his readers would have to remind him of that but in his desperate state of mind, it was the only thing he thought of trying. But it didn’t help. Bea was repeating the word still and Wade stood up in frustration, burying his face in his hands.

As he imagined how you would react, how you would make him sleep on the couch for months he realised the worst thing was that would would likely get upset about this. So he quickly thought of an idea. He had to make Bea forget the swear word and try to get her to say something else.

So quickly, he picked her up again, holding her close as he sat her down on his hip and went around the kitchen, pointing out random objects only to get the swear word as a reply again. Then he moved on into the living room to try doing the same there.

“Flower.”

“Fuck.”

“Table.”

“Fuck.”

“Couch.”

“Fuck.”

This went on for some time until eventually Wade went into Bea’s bedroom and walked around, once more pointing out random objects until they reached her crib and the mobile hanging over it. Bea reached out for the little aquatic creatures hanging from it and Wade got an idea -- a word that was as short as the swear word and also started with the same letter. Gentle, he stopped the mobile and grabbed a small blue fish between both his fingers.

“Fish.”

“Fish!”

“Yes, Fish! Good girl, Bee!” Wade said and nodded, beaming as his daughter repeated the word a few more times. “Fish. That’s a fish.”

The front door opening made him turn and freeze. He hoped his plan had worked as he walked out into the living room where you quickly spotted him and came over, cooing at the girl in his arms before taking her into yours. You bounced her around a bit as you leaned in to kiss Wade before looking back at Bea.

“Did you have fun with Daddy, Bee?”

“Fish!”

Your mouth fell open and a smile overtook your features as you stared at your daughter in disbelief. Then you looked up at Wade in absolute delight, bouncing Bea around on your hip as the girl giggled happily.

“She said her first word? That’s amazing! And it’s so funny that it’s fish.”

“I guess it’s because of her mobile.” Wade shrugged and then leaned forward to kiss Bea on the head as he continued lying to you. “She’s been going on about it all afternoon.”

“It’s just sad that I wasn’t there to hear it.” Your smile faltered just a bit but then your face lit up again. “Maybe I can see it on the baby monitor.”

Wade felt his blood run cold for a second before he realised why that wouldn’t be possible. “She said it in the kitchen. The baby monitor is in the bedroom, so I guess you won’t be able to see it. Sorry, Honey.”

Once more your face fell but it quickly lit up once again when Bea kept babbling on about fish and you looked up to smile at Wade, seemingly having decided that it didn’t matter because it was a wonderful thing nonetheless. Wade was about to embrace you and Bea when you piped up again, a big smile on your face.

“Wait a second. The baby monitor has two devices and both of them have cameras, so you can use them back and forth.” You mused, snapping your fingers and making Wade freeze as he realised where the other device was. “I left the other one in the kitchen yesterday!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, and now I can see our daughter speak her first word for the first time, too!”

Before Wade could come up with a lie you were on your way to the kitchen, Bea in your arms. Once there you sat down the footage of the empty kitchen until Wade saw the video of him putting Bea down in her highchair. His hands clamped down on the back of your chair as you started playing the footage, turning back to smile at him and tease him quietly about how sweet he was for always talking to Bea. But he wasn’t really listening, eyes trained on the monitor.

“Fuck!”

Wade felt himself freeze as you turned around in your chair, a deep scowl on your face as you looked up at him. “That was our daughter first word? And she said it because of you?”

“I am so sorry, Honeybun. My sweet pookie-bear, I swear it was not on purpose. I cut myself and it was out of reflex. Please, don’t kick me out!”

“Give me a second.”

You stood from your chair and walked into the living room to place Bea down on her playmat where she began playing with her shapes and blocks again. Wade followed you, head turned down as he waited for you to go off on him. As you marched over and guided him into the hallway, just far enough to be out of earshot but close enough to keep an eye on your daughter, he knew he was in for it.

“Bad enough that you teach her to swear, but you also lie to me about it!” You snapped quietly, probably not wanting to raise your voice and scare Bear. “I can’t believe you!”

Wade raised his hands in defeat. “It’s totally my fault, I know. But you gotta admit that I at least got her to quickly forget it. Now she’s just saying ‘fish’, so that’s good!”

“Yeah, I guess that’s good.” You sighed and shook your head, putting your hand on your hips. “At least you fixed this.”

“So really, if anything you shut be thankful!”

“Shut the fuck up, Wilson!”

”Fuck!”

Wade burst out laughing as you turned in horror, finding Bea on the floor, repeating the word over and over again. He watched in amusement as you hurried over and tried to redirect her to saying ‘fish’ again but it was of no use because now that Bea had been reminded of the word she was not going to stop saying it. Wade grinned to himself as he approached you, leaning in close to whisper in your ear so Bea wouldn’t hear him.

“Where the fuck did she learn that?”

[kalifornia1025]

The Resident Patient Pt. 2 (SPOILERS)

Alright sequel notes coming up now!

Fun sleepover, huh? Yeah if only

Poor John sounds so scared

Right, Mariana would be a believer in ghosts 

NOT THE SPINNING POTTERY SCENE REFERENCE, JOHN

Tippy toes? Wow

Ooh yes! Using the mic to bring up recorded evidence is a feature we don’t hear option but SHOULD

I’d be just like Mariana bringing up The Shining in this situation, except I’d do it more liking a joking skeptic

‘Roadkill’? Damn, that was kinda rude Mariana

Mariana: “Call the journalist!”, John: “I don’t want to!” - same John I hate phone calls

This little exchange was cute to me: 

Avery: “What? What’s this hmm? Are you a doctor?”

Sherlock: “No but he is” *referring to John*

John: *ahem* “Hello”

“The only crime that is rife around her involves tax evaders or high-end sex workers. You don’t strike me as either” - okay SHERLOCK?

Ah yes here’s where Sherlock refuses to help the guy because he’s lying 

What’s the deal with magnets in this case?

JOHN’S I LOVE LONDON SHIRT MENTIONED AGAIN!!

Oh wow Sherlock is HEATED about this dude, even saying “go ahead and die, see if I care”

Spooky sleepover!!

Ah yes a mandatory Blair Witch Project mention when recording in a spooky place

Another fun exchange for this episode:

Sherlock: “Good God!”

John: “What is it?!”

Sherlock: “This jacket is grotesque”

John: “God sake”

John…are you asking Sherlock to strip your corpse so your ghost wouldn’t be stuck wearing the pjs you died in??

“Would you like to be found naked? Or perhaps in the disgusting jacket?” - we’re getting silly & sassy Sherlock in this case, I love it!

“You have a sharp mind. You’re a brilliant man, your thoughts and opinions are never stupid” - awww Sherlock complimenting John is so sweet!!

“Well that’s just stupid” - welp that didn’t last long

“Fill a brother in” - NOT SHERLOCK SAYING WHAT JOHN SAID IN PT. 1

Why are they being so cute right now???

Oh shit, crime is happening! GO AWAY, Sherlock and John are bonding!

Listening with headphones sounds like Sherlock is whispering over my shoulder (creepy and uncomfortable)

Ouch, at least you tried to do it, John (maybe better luck with that in the future?)

The disgusting jacket ends up being useful!

“You ok, mate?” - I honestly love how John asks how his friends are doing during cases

Oh…looks like he went ahead and died just like you wanted Sherlock…

Oh wow, that ending for Pt. 2 is…dark. I knew it was gonna happen based on reading it from the ACD story, but it’s always interesting to hear how they present it in the podcast. 

But on a more positive note this case is so Johnlock-positive! Whether or not you ship it, you gotta admit that they’re so much friendlier towards each other here. Also Sherlock is just so much more silly and feral in this case and it’s so funny to me! We need more ��silly goofy mood’ Sherlock. Alright, tune in next week for the Resident Patient finale…

[actually-a-fish]

the best supernatural episodes

according to an autistic person with a special interest and the ability to make a list.

if youre really serious about supernatural spoilers then maybe stay away :)

None of the season one episodes made in on the list but I will give an honorable mention to S1 E2 Wendigo.

S2 E11 Playthings - A classic, creepy girls in a creepy hotel. Special call out to Sam getting SLOPPY

S2 E16 Roadkill - There's a ghost haunting the highway. the Boys help the spirit move on. This is an early example of monster empathy

S2 E18 Hollywood Babylon - Dean loves hollywood. I love dean. this episode makes me kick my feet like a little girl and i will not defend myself.

S2 EP 20 What Was Shall Never Be - all I have in my notes for this one is "Dean Djinn Dream" which was enough for me to remember the episode and get misty eyes. This is SEASON 2 my son will never know peace.

S3 E5 Bedtime Stories -I had to check the wiki on this one, I think i liked it cause it referenced classic fairytales

S3 Ep11 Mystery Spot - "HEAT OF THE MOMENT" RISE AND SHINE SAMMY!

S3 E13 Ghostfacers! - Im a Facer through and through

S3 E16 No Rest for the Wicked - S3 finale and the Boys are facing consequences! Classic Dean, Sam and Bobby episode.

S4 E1 Lazerus Rising - First Cas Episode. That handprint makes me feel things.

S4 E6 Yellow Fever - What if Dean had anxiety (The Eye of the Tiger blooper is also at the end of the episode which gives it bonus points.

S4 E17 Wishful Thinking - Make a wish? was it for your teddy bear to be diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder? Well thats what youre getting!

S4 E17 It's a Terrible Life - Sam ~ the sales rep. Dean ~ middle management.

S4 E18 The Monster at the End of the Book - There are books about Sam and Dean?! Written by this guy who loves self insert character? Surely the entire show isn't about to take a tone shift?

S5 E3 Free to be You and Me - Sam and Dean are fighting again, but this time Dean has a new heavenly boy toy to play with instead. (Cas has no rizz yet it's actually a little painful to watch)

S5 E5 Fallen Idol - Okay the Wax People episode is on here for one reason and one reason only. Paris Hilton.

S5 E7 The Curious Case of Dean Winchester - Old man Dean and old man Bobby. This is also the episode for HH Husk kinnies.

S5 E8 Changing Channels - Dr Sexy MD is that you?!

S5 E9 The Real Ghostbuster - *in a grizzly voice* "I'm Dean Winchester, this is my brother Sam. Have you experienced anything strange?" "Dude that was so good! Now we can go solve the puzzle" "Man you're breaking the immersion!"

S5 E10 Abandon All Hope - This is here for Crowley's first appearance and not because the end will make you cry.

S5 E12 Swap Meat - "uh... its Audi Nos". Freaky Friday starring Sam Winchester! An angsty teen and April Kepner from Grey/Sloan Memorial Hospital.

S5 E16 Dark Side of the Moon - The Boys lives flash before their eyes. Dean is pissed forever about Sams.

S5 E19 Hammer of the Gods - this is for all my pagans out there!

S6 E4 A Weekend at Bobby's - What do you think this episodes about idjit.

S6 E15 The French Mistake -  “For whatever reason, our life is a TV show.” “Why?” “I don't know.” “No, seriously. Why? Why would anybody want to watch our lives?” 

S7 E4 Defending your Life - consequences? for fucking people over? how about you stand trial.

S7 E20 The Girl with the Dungeons and Dragons Tattoo - The self insert character made for us :) Luv u 4ever Charlie XD

S8 E4 Bitten - found footage will always scare. this one reminds me that this show started as a psuedo horror.

S8 E8 hunteri heroci - Cas tries his hand at being a hunter

S8 E12 As Time Goes By - FINALLY THEY ARE CARVING TRAPS INTO BULLETS

S8 E17 Goodbye Stranger - verbatim here are my notes for this episode "Cas chooses Dean, but the way he handles Meg... Fuck Naomi"

S8 E18 Clip Show - If you only want to watch just one episode of Supernatural this should be it. It's not actually a clip show, theres a broment, bonding time with favorite characters and crazy plots that only supernatural could get away with.

S9 E5 Dog Dean Afternoon - Dean is finally a dog person

S9 E11 First Born - Another bro fight leads to shipping <3 SamxCas + DeanxCrowley <3

S9 E15 #thinman - the slender episode feat. GHOSTFACERS. You come away from this episode thinking "supernatural is so fucking gay why wont the boys kiss"

S9 E21 King of the Damned - my favorite crowley era change my mind. Also the way the Boys interrogate an angel is so funny

S10 E5 Fan Fiction - I would unironically fuck w a supernatural musical and if helluva/hazbin taught me anything the rest of you would too

S10 E6 Ask Jeeves - The Clue episode. (Pay attention to the improvised weapons Dean chooses. It brings me joy)

S10 E9 The Things we Left Behind - Cas is suffering a midlife crisis and his besties are there to help him repair his relationship with his daughter. Funnily enough, Crowley is also getting some family bonding in.

Okay, I'm all caught up on my list. Should I have stayed up late transcribing this with an 8am class tommarow?

Probably not but it did bring me great joy. Tell me your favorite episode! I'll continue to add to my list as I continue my rewatch :)

[jovial-thunder]

More IRL Lego Lancer!

We played the Tomb of Delios one-shot by Katherine Stark. Some NPC comp / sitrep spoilers ahead.

I used the backs of old trivial pursuit boards for grids, egg cartons, poster tubes, and a big Roomba box + insert for terrain.

I coated the cardboard with this flour and glue paste recipe I found on youtube.

I found a bunch of cheap-ish large lego octogons and walls online for the modular buildings, then greebled them with misc urban details I collected from my local bricks & minifigs bulk by-volume bins.

Our PCs were a Swallowtail artillery (callsign Bandit; an SSC plant in the union auxilliaries), Störtebeker striker (callsign Roadkill, silver-nanite kintsugi'd mechromancer), and Black Witch support (callsign Egret, disgraced princess (gotta be one of my favorite genders)).

The elite cataphract ended up playing trapdoor spider for most of the game; hiding in a magical healing forest (thank u support o7) and grappling PCs back into the forest with it.

Its scariest turn was popping out, structuring the Bandit and destroying his siege stabilizers, and lassoing it back into the forest. Egret came to the rescue and finally did the cataphract in with perimeter command plate/impact lance/crit thrown tactical knife overwatch combo.

The Swallowtail never took any voluntary movement after deploying its siege stab round 1, but between rainmaker knockback, the aforementioned trapdoor spider incident, and allied ferrous lashes, and a few rams, it was pingponged around the map pretty significantly.

"Come out Rainmaker, I just want to talk."

The final threat to the objective was when a bastion clambered up onto the pipeline to contest them. The Störtebeker (whose mini was having trouble standing up on the pipeline) pulled an indiana jones and just shot it down.

For the pre-battle narrative section, I made two 4-step clocks out of lego and a minimap as the party visited various districts of the city. Both were totally unnecessary but I think added a lot to the IRL experience.

All in all, it was a lot of fun! Things that worked well/could be improved on:

The aforementioned mini stability. I should add more baseplates to the minis to making moving and standing them up less finicky.

As cool as the egg carton bottoms are, having flat surfaces is just better. Going to stick with the tops going forward.

The grid ground floor worked great. I should trace more grids onto the egg cartons and larger boxes. I also made a few measuring sticks out of dowels and that was super handy.

Witchdice on phones continues to work well for PC character sheets.

I made a handful of status tokens that we could put next to mechs. They were handy for consumable statuses like lock-on, but less so for memorable ones like exposed and hidden.

We needed more little indicators for misc systems like Javelin Rockets and Iceout Drone.

It was fun to be able to follow up "how do you want to do this" with "you may now destroy the mini".

[kiwipineappleparasol]

Dropping in Just to add that Ingame, there's what seem to be (most likely Unintended) implications during The Twist™ that Fulbright had no loved ones, and in this case, noone who can vouch for his own life on a personal level. (It depends on how you read it, I suppose, but for Context to what I'm referring to: There's a moment where the Phantom cannot list a single Loved One Fulbright is supposed to have to back up his alibi that he IS Fulbright. And after being Such an Accurate Roleplayer too, suddenly trying to list Any Family just sounds like Hilarious Obvious Lies. It's supposed to be a Joke ingame but hey, makes someone Wonder) So, maybe in a world where he can't remember -- then noone can remember the real him. Not to the full extent, anyways. And Boy isn't that some Psychological Fuckery right there, my Favorite 😈 Wanting to prove that you're You but whoever you were is just Gone . Like Corrupted files that Weren't backed up and you can Only decipher what is Left Over . Oh, and that you were impersonated by a Superspy. That too.

Anyways, how the other characters would Handle him returning after the whole Phantom situation is an interesting premise As Well 🤔 It's gotta be Real Awkward to suddenly be faced with the Real Guy but all you knew his face for was his Numerous Crimes -- Except they weren't his, he was just the Scapegoat for this and now you have to reconcile this fact. You have a face for the person who killed your loved ones; who ruined your life -- except it wasn't their face at all, and you'll always associate that with an innocent party.

what if, in a Bobby Lives au, he was comatose and wakes up from the coma, only to have amnesia? he can't remember who he is, and no one else can be sure of how to jog his memory, because they only met the Phantom, and they don't know how accurate the Phantom's portrayal was...

this could be a whole moment...