#so i should expect drawing guns

[cervinae-canine]

the next drawing has two side profiles and two different gun models. just finished the line art :,)

[driftershunt]

pennymav <3

[princessbrunette]

jj never left the house without his gun.

with good reason too— the way rafe behaved, and all that shit in the past with the royal merchant or even his dad made jj an antsy, jittery person. he didn’t like feeling caught out or helpless, and the thing about his pistol was that 99.9% of the time it promised him security.

you were used to it. that bulge in his waistband where it was usually tucked, the blonde muttering for you to ‘watch it’ when you’re getting handsy with him in public and accidentally brush it. you didn’t see what the big deal was, after all it was just a pistol.

you hear his sneakers bounding along the floor to his rickety home, skidding and scuffing around as he searches for the weapon that he won’t find. you giggle mischievously, borderline psychotically before he appears at the doorway — seeming a little concerned and out of breath.

“so— you haven’t seen my piece, right?” he blinks.

“oh your gun?” you tilt your head casually and he nods, pressing his lips together. honestly, he was half expecting you roll your eyes and ask him how he could lose a deadly weapon — but instead you smile, drawing back the bed covers from where you sit up in bed in your cute underwear set, pistol in hand.

“oh you mean this gun?” you hold it very loosely and casually making jj freeze up, holding up a hand.

“holy— alright, okay. i get your point mama m’not going to misplace it again just like… put it down.” he demands in that pretty southern accent that made you leak. you were in a bratty mood today, wanting to push him until he broke so that’s exactly what you’d do.

“hm, but i like it. i feel soooo protected and safe right now. y’never know what creeps are out there, jj.” you tease, dragging the cold tip of the gun down your chest, your nipples hard from adrenaline through your bra.

“y’know you’re like — commitin’ all kinds of crimes right now. shouldn’t take someone else’s firearm it’s like, bad gun… karma.” he steps closer towards the bed, still visibly uneasy despite his tone.

“you should arrest me then.” you shrug, eyes lighting up in excitement as the gun travels further down your body, dragging down the soft skin of your stomach to your waistband. he freezes.

“uh… what you doin’ there kittycat?”

“just messing around.” you sigh dreamily, before widening your legs. the blonde looks conflicted— yes it was dangerous and he needed you to hand it back right that instant, but also… you looked good. the tip of the barrel begins to rub slow circles on your clit over your panties and you sigh, brows furrowing as you look up, glassy eyed at your boyfriend.

“babe…” he warns, blinking at your open legs. you swear his dick jumps, visibly.

“feels so good, jj…” you groan, and the second you let your guard down, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure your boyfriend grabs the barrel, disarming you before flipping you onto your front in one fluid movement. you whine in irritation, beginning to squirm violently but the strength of the blonde boy overpowers you and he holds you down effortlessly. “ugh, jj!”

“yeah not so cocky now huh? how you gonna protect yourself now?” he drawls, shoving a thigh between your legs to widen your stance as he keeps you arched. “d’you have any idea how stupid that was?”

“no.”

“yeah i di’nt think so. but you’re gunna.” you feel the cool tip of the gun again, pressed to your back. “slide them panties off. don’t make me tell you twice.”

[you-have-a-metal-arm]

‘Til The End of The Line

Pairing: Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Mentions of blood, shooting and getting hurt

Summary: You get injured in a mission, and Bucky cannot bear to see you in such state.

Author's Note: Please do not copy or translate my work. English is not my first language, so please understand grammar or spelling mistakes.

I am so sorry for being gone (school’s been killing me)

I appreciate every feedback! Thank you for reading, enjoy!

“Ready to kick some ass, kiddo?” Steve’s voice was calm, almost soothing, but you could hear the adrenaline beneath his words as the two of you adjusted your parachutes. The jet engines hummed around you, a subtle reminder of the mission ahead.

You grinned, giving your suit one last check and tightening your grip on the gun in your hand. “Yeah, I’m gonna beat the shit out of them.”

Steve smiled, not bothering to correct your language. With him, you were always an exception.

Moments later, the wind was whipping against your face as you both jumped from the jet, splitting off into the night sky. Steve took the left wing—the more dangerous side—leaving you the right. Tony had assured you it was safer, but as you slid through the narrow gap in the door, the freezing cold hit you like a wall. The air inside was frigid, bitterly reminding you of Bucky’s stories about the winters he hated so much.

“As far as I can see, it’s clear here. How’s the situation there?” Steve’s voice crackled through the comms, full of concern. You knew he cared for you deeply, saw you as the daughter he never had, and would have taken a bullet to ensure your safety.

“It’s clear here too, Cap,” you replied, trying to ease his worry.

“Let’s stick to the plan: I’ll draw out the agents while you head straight to the operations room and grab their file IV data.”

“Copy that. Be safe, Cap—and I mean it. If you need help, just call me.”

“I will, kiddo. Be safe yourself. And promise to call me if you need anything.”

“I promise. Let’s fucking go.”

You raced through the deserted corridors of the right wing, a dagger in one hand and a fully loaded gun tucked into your suit for emergencies. The cold air bit at your skin, the silence amplifying every footstep. Suddenly, a loud, thunderous noise echoed behind you. Instinctively, you thought it was Steve, but it wasn’t. The sound was coming from your side of the building.

Before you could react, you were ambushed by over twenty armed agents.

On the other side of the wing, Steve was facing his own battle. He tossed a grenade down a hallway, expecting a swarm of enemies, but only three agents rushed at him. Something was wrong. There should have been more.

“Shit,” you hissed into the comms, struggling against the overwhelming odds. Steve heard the panic in your voice, but he couldn’t respond—one of the agents had him in a chokehold. His grip tightened on the comms as he heard the unmistakable sound of gunfire, followed by a loud thud that made his blood run cold.

“Kiddo, you okay?” Steve managed to gasp out, but all he got in return was a pained groan.

“I’ll get to you in less than a minute, I promise,” he said, desperation creeping into his voice. He could hear your labored breathing through the comms, and it was tearing him apart.

“Steve…” Your voice was faint, each word a struggle.

“Hmm?” he replied, trying to sound reassuring despite the dread clawing at his chest.

“Are the comms… still being recorded?”

Steve’s heart sank. He knew what you were doing, and he hated it. “Yes, kiddo, if there weren’t any changes to the plans, it’s on record.”

You exhaled shakily, the breath catching in your throat. There was only one person you needed to reach out to. “Buck…”

As soon as Steve heard the name, he knew the weight of what you were about to say. Even after four years of being together, Bucky’s name still brought shivers to your spine, thick with emotion.

“If by any chance you get to listen to this, Buck—”

“Y/N, kiddo, no, you’re not dying. I won’t let that happen.”

“You don’t know that…” Your voice was helpless, a reflection of your dwindling strength.

“Just stay there. I’m on my way. Please, don’t give up on us.”

But a part of Steve knew this might be your last moment. It was an instinct, a gut-wrenching feeling that he couldn’t shake. So he didn’t stop you from saying what you needed to.

“If you get a chance to listen to this…” You fought to keep your eyes open, tears mingling with the blood on the cold metal floor. Your mind flashed with the future you had imagined—a life with Bucky, growing old together, watching your children grow up. “In another life, we might—maybe we could have grown old together.”

Steve’s heart clenched as your voice wavered. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, but he knew there was nothing he could do except listen.

“I wish I could have given you babies,” you continued, your voice cracking with emotion. “Watched them grow in our backyard… I’m sorry that I can’t be the one to give you that life.”

Your vision blurred as sleepiness started to consume you. You fought against it with everything you had, but the darkness was closing in. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry that this is how it ends for us… I’m really sorry.”

“And if this is how it really ends… Promise me you’ll find someone else to love, to open up to. Find someone else… Call someone else ‘doll.’ And don’t grieve too much.”

The darkness was overwhelming now. You felt it pulling you under, felt the life draining from your body as blood poured from your wounds. “You deserve to be happy… And the past doesn’t—doesn’t define you.”

Your last words were barely a whisper. “I… Love you, Buck. And I’m sorry I couldn’t say that more often.”

And then… silence. The darkness consumed you, and Steve heard nothing but the empty static of the comms. He refused to believe it, refused to accept that you were gone. He sprinted through the hallways, throwing open every door until he found you, lying motionless on the floor, your suit stained crimson with blood.

He scooped you up as if you weighed nothing, his legs pumping with every ounce of energy he had left. The jet’s engines hummed steadily, but inside the cabin, chaos reigned. Steve knelt beside you, his hands trembling as he assessed your injuries. The bullets had done their damage—one near your heart, another through your stomach, and the last through your left arm. Blood pooled beneath you, soaking through your suit.

“Kiddo, hang in there, please,” Steve murmured, his voice tight with fear. He grabbed the medical kit from the overhead compartment, spilling its contents across the floor. His hands worked quickly, tearing open a pack of gauze and pressing it firmly against the wounds. The bleeding was relentless, and he knew he needed to act fast to save your life.

You were pale, your breathing shallow and irregular. It was a miracle you were still breathing at all. Steve knew he had to stabilize you before they landed, or you wouldn’t make it. His mind raced through the limited medical training he had received—enough to get through emergencies, but nothing like this.

He fumbled with an IV kit, his hands shaking as he tried to insert the needle into your arm. Your veins were fragile, but after what felt like an eternity, he got it in. He attached a bag of saline solution, knowing it was only a temporary measure.

“Stay with me, kiddo. Buck won’t be so happy about this,” Steve whispered, his voice trembling. Your pulse was faint, but still there. He applied more pressure to the wound, checking if you were breathing again. It was labored, but there were no signs of a collapsed lung, thank God.

He grabbed the portable oxygen mask and gently placed it over your mouth and nose, adjusting the flow to give you the support you desperately needed. Your chest rose and fell slightly more steadily—a small victory amid the chaos.

With one hand still applying pressure to the wound, Steve fumbled with the jet’s communications system. “Friday, please check if the team is ready for immediate surgery.”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Stark has everything prepared, and Dr. Cho is on standby.”

“Can you connect me directly to Tony?”

“Connecting now, sir.”

“Cap, how is she?” Tony’s voice crackled through, tense with concern.

“I think I stabilized her. We’re landing in three minutes, max. Thank God this jet has autopilot, or else… she wouldn’t have made it.”

Tony was silent for a moment. It wasn’t the time for pride or self-congratulation. He was kicking himself for not being more cautious, for not having medics onboard, for underestimating the mission. You were the youngest, the brightest member of the Avengers, and he couldn’t bear to lose you.

Steve checked the wound again. The bleeding had slowed, but it hadn’t stopped. He packed the wound with more gauze, securing it tightly. You needed a blood transfusion, surgery—everything he couldn’t provide here. All he could do was keep you stable until they landed.

“Tony, do me one favor,” Steve said, his voice thick as he wiped the blood from your cheeks. “Please… Don’t let Bucky see her like this. He won’t be able to handle it.”

But Tony’s response was firm. “Sorry, Cap. James already knows. He’s waiting at the airbase. And he has the right to see her.”

Steve nodded, though his heart ached at the thought. “Okay, Tony, thanks… We’re almost there.”

The jet descended, the lights of the airbase coming into view. Steve cradled you close, whispering words of comfort that he wasn’t sure you could hear. “We’re going to make it, kiddo. Just hold on a little longer.”

As the jet landed, the hatch opened to reveal Tony, Dr. Cho, and Bucky. Bucky’s face was ashen, his eyes wide with fear as he took in the sight of you. Steve gently handed you over to Dr. Cho and her team, who rushed you to the medical bay. Bucky stood frozen, staring at the blood that covered Steve’s hands and suit.

“She’s alive, Buck,” Steve said softly, his voice raw with exhaustion. “But she needs you now more than ever. Don’t lose hope.”

Bucky nodded, swallowing hard. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t think beyond the sight of you lying there so still. He followed the team as they wheeled you into surgery, praying with everything he had left that you would survive this.

THANK YOU FOR READING!

THERE’S GOING TO BE A PART 2 by Sunday

Part 2 is up y’all

[sanguineterrain]

for the dc prompts you reblogged:

can i request jason todd x reader "someone likes being pinned down" + A flirting with B while sparring to throw them off their tracks

where reader is also a vigilante??

thank you so much 🩷

very sexy prompts thank u 😌

jason todd x gn!reader. r and robin!jay were friends, r doesn't know jason is alive/red hood but jason knows r is a vigilante. r's alias is 'nocturne' (if that's already in use oh well lmao). fighting/sparring, jason is mega in love with you as usual!!

all fics at @sanguinelibrary

****

"Still blindly following the Bat, huh?"

You land in a crouch on the rooftop, just like how Nightwing taught you. The Red Hood doesn't look at you, digging through two duffel bags. He doesn't even draw his gun, like you've seen him do with virtually every other vigilante in Gotham.

You wait, ready to spring into action. But Hood doesn't stop what he's doing. Slowly, you rise.

"What... do you mean?" you ask.

"I mean, why are you traipsing around Gotham as a bat-adjacent? Who are you s'posed to be anyway? Goth Bat? Alternative Scene Bat?"

"I'm Nocturne," you say, shoulders rising to your ears. Rude. You thought the chunky boots and star over your suit's eye mask were inspired.

Red Hood lifts a hand. "Don't get me wrong, I dig the threads. I'm just surprised B didn't have an aneurysm over the sequins. Then again, Discowing did do it first..."

Your first two meetings with the infamous Red Hood have been similar in that he's never very concerned about you stopping him (ouch), but he also isn't callous or cruel with you like he is with the other vigilantes.

Case in point: the last person who cornered Hood on a roof was Red Robin. Hood shot him in the shoulder before he could land.

In short, he's perplexing as hell.

Batman's forbidden the rest of the team to confront Hood without backup. And you're technically not supposed to be on patrol tonight. But if you can intercept Hood, that'll be a huge win.

Hood keeps on packing the duffels. You hesitate, then step forward.

"Get away from the bags," you say. "I won't ask twice."

Hood looks at you. "Nocturne's a pretty cool name, I'll admit. And I like the boots. But I still think you oughta call it quits."

He zips up the bags, stands, and kicks them to the corner of the roof.

"Because you're just that unstoppable?" you ask, hands curling into fists.

"Yeah. But mostly 'cause I know you're made for so much more than this, sweetheart."

And that is the third and perhaps most bewildering thing about your encounters with Red Hood: you've gotten the creeping feeling that he... likes you.

Which is ridiculous, and if you ever breathed a word of that to anybody, Batman would probably check you into Arkham.

You take another careful step forward. Hood leans against the railing and folds his arms.

"This the part where you apprehend and hogtie me for innocently packing a duffel bag?" he asks.

You glare. "Innocent? I know you're making a weapons delivery because I know you've been waiting for Batman to be off-planet to make it."

"Clever. Told ya you're too good for this," Hood says. "Should be in college with those smarts, not playing maid for Batman."

"Are you lecturing me?"

"I'm advising you as your friendly neighborhood drug lord. Lecturing makes me sound like a guy who's got too much money and too big of a savior complex to understand that the way he fights injustice is fundamentally flawed."

"Sounds personal."

Hood laughs. "Honey, you have no idea."

You strike.

Hood parries your first attack easily, which you expect. The truth is that whoever trained Hood cut no corners and you're still relatively new at vigilantism. It's only by the grace of God that Hood hasn't left you to bleed out on a roof.

You kick his shin, but Hood turns on the instep and blocks. You go for his shoulder, where his armor separates to give him more movement. But Hood's ready for that too, and he catches your arm.

"Gotta keep that right arm up," he says. "Surprised no one's trained that outta you yet."

You elbow Hood in the throat. He coughs and lets go.

"Like that?" you ask, muscles tense with adrenaline.

Hood makes a sound that might be a laugh, still choked from your hit. "Just like that, honeylove. Good job."

"I don't need feedback," you snap, immediately going back in for another hit.

"Sorry. I'll make this quick then. I do have a delivery."

On the next strike, you advance, using a technique Nightwing drilled into your head for bigger opponents. Hood goes down and you land atop him.

"Oh, that's a Nightwing takedown if I've ever seen one," Hood says beneath you.

You're close enough that you can hear his breathing through the decoder. Pride swells in you at taking him down. Not even Batman has managed such a thing.

Hood is warm and big. His shoulder span alone dwarfs you. When you'd seen him from afar, fighting Batman or Nightwing, you'd been terrified.

But now, perhaps stupidly, you feel comfortable. Annoyed, but safe. Something about him reminds you of home. Makes your stomach flip in a good way.

Which is terrifying.

"You're coming with me," you say, reaching for your cuffs.

"If only. Unfortunately, you've forgotten a teensy weensy detail, dearest."

Hood bucks you off, legs first. Your feet fly into the air, which allows him to flip your positions. You wince, preparing for a concussion upon impact as you go down. But Hood cushions your fall and neatly rolls you over. Your back is pressed into the concrete, hands locked over your head. Hood's weight holds down your hips and legs.

He looms over you, easily holding you down. Your face grows hot.

"How did—" You squirm in his grip. "I had you!"

"Weight distribution, sweets. Tell Al—one of the Bats to add weight to your boots. They keep you light on your feet, but you were depending on them too much to hold me down, and we ain't evenly matched there."

You thrash in his grip. "Hood, I swear to fucking—"

"Easy. Don't sweat it, sweetheart. You haven't been doing this for very long. That was a good takedown, regardless. I'm impressed."

"Screw you."

He hums. You can tell he's smiling under the helmet. "Sorry, I forgot. You don't like feedback."

Hood strokes the inside of your wrist. You aren't sure he's aware he's doing it. His grip is firm but light. He's not trying to hurt you. Your pulse is in your throat.

For a moment, you're both still. Hood seems caught in a trance, like even Superman couldn't tear him away from this moment. From you. And it's not that you're afraid, you're just... you're...

"How do you know so much about me?" you blurt, because it's puzzled the whole team. "You been spying on me?"

"'Course not. Unlike your boss, I respect privacy. No, I did research. I recognized you from when you'd hang around that second Robin. Shrimpy little guy. What'd ya even see in him?"

The grief overtakes you before you can control your mouth.

"You don't know anything about me or him," you spit. "Don't fucking talk about him. He had more skill and goodness in his pinkie than you'll have in a lifetime. And you could learn a thing from him about changing a city. He'd tell you that fear alone never works."

Hood is quiet for a long moment. Then he speaks.

"Where's your distress signal?"

"Why would I tell—"

Hood shifts over you, cutting off your reply. He pulls a ziptie around your wrists. They're not even a little tight. You could probably slip out of them if you had five minutes.

"I know you're not s'posed to be out tonight," he whispers in your ear. "'S not your patrol night. Good thing you're my favorite."

You nearly swallow your tongue. "How do you—I don't—"

"Uh-huh. So you be good from now on, yeah? Wouldn't wanna have to keep tying you up like this."

You lift your chin. "We'll switch positions soon enough."

Hood snorts. "Okay, I know you heard how that soun—"

"I heard it," you say grumpily. "Just get on with it. Jerk."

"As you wish. Distress signal?"

"Collar."

Hood presses the button under your collar. Your breath hitches as his gloved fingers graze your neck.

"Oh? Does somebody like getting pinned down?"

"In your dreams."

Hood laughs. He zipties your ankles last, then sits you upright against the railing.

"Not too tight, are they?" he asks. "I know you've got a circulation problem."

You squint. "You seem to know a lot about me. Not fair that I don't know much about you, Hood."

"'S just business, honeylove," he says, scooping up his duffel. "Now I don't wanna see you in a suit anymore, comprende?"

"Or you'll what? Shoot me?"

Hood pauses, eerily still. He turns those glowing white eyes upon you. Your heart picks up.

"No," he says, so serious it startles you. "But someone else might. And I don't want you to face the same fate as your good friend Robin."

He vaults over the railing before you can respond. Your head thunks lightly as you lean back and wonder if you're really just business to the Red Hood.

(pt 2)

[ivymarquis]

Say You Won't Let Go

Last House on the Right

Pairing| John Price x F!Single Mom!Reader Rating| E Word Count| 1.1k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Post Apocalypse!AU, Single Mom!verse, pregnant reader, mentions of pregnancy related eating issues + vomiting, Reader's got some separation issues. Fair warning this is so half baked I haven't even decided what kind of apocalypse it is, but somehow Ive got a whole plotline regardless.Same pairing as my fic Blind Date

Next Chapter

You can’t believe your luck. 

You’re not sure what exactly it was about this house in the dead of night that had you so transfixed, but your intuition has paid off in spades. 

The area’s been abandoned, to your knowledge leaving you the sole inhabitant meandering around. 

Or maybe waddling would be a more apt description.

Fear and uncertainty of the outside hurry you along into the house. Most everyone- the survivors- has splintered off into groups. There’s no evidence of anyone still living here (admittedly it’s not like you’ve taken the time to check every room, but there are signs when a house is inhabited), but you luck out that the cabinets haven’t been picked over. 

It’s been entirely too long since your last meal, and it takes a good amount of restraint to not devour the can of ravioli too quickly. 

As much as you’re tempted, you know there’s a fine line between what will and won’t have you immediately throwing up in the sink- grazing seems to keep the worst of the upset down.

There’s no hospitals to jaunt off to if you end up dehydrated. Excessive vomiting is not ideal post end of days.

If you were in your right mind- not frightened, isolated, starving, cold- and not focusing on how the unheated chef boyardee might as well be a five star michelin meal for all you can think right now, you might have been paying more attention.

The sound of a safety clicking off behind you freezes your blood far more than the cold. That sound is deliberate. Whoever’s behind you- gun pointed at you- wants you to know they got the jump on you.

“Hands where I can see them,” the order is gruffly barked at you.

You feel stupid. Of course all of this was too convenient for you to simply be catching a break. It wasn’t exactly well lit and designed to draw you in- but you’re an animal caught in a trap regardless.

The fork clatters against the counter next to the can as you go to comply.

“Turn around. Slowly.”

You’re not much of a threat in your current condition. That much is obvious.

Time stopped having any sort of tangible meaning a while ago. You should know how many weeks you are, but the days run together fending for yourself and you just know that you’re close. There’s no hiding the swell of your belly.

The man at the doorway looks as gruff as he sounds. Your mind spins like a tire in mud to process everything in front of you in the poor moonlight. Military, that much is obvious. You’re not actually sure if that’s a good thing. Handsome from what you can see, though historically your type has been men who don’t have a weapon leveled at you.

The taciturn expression on his face falters when he spots your bump, but you’ve learned by now to not expect any sort of special treatment.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize immediately. “I-I didn’t know anyone was here. I’ll leave, I swear.” 

He looks at you another moment before a look of resignation washes over him.

“Turn back around. Keep your hands up.” Oh God. Your mind immediately goes to the worst- That this man, for whatever reason, has decided that your infraction has signed your death warrant. That he can’t quite bring himself to fire on a pregnant woman staring him in the eyes, so the last thing you’re ever going to see is some tacky wallpaper and ugly cabinets.

You yelp when one of his hands finds the pistol on your hip. Holy shit you didn’t even hear him cross the room.

“Easy, love,” he soothes as he starts to frisk you for more weapons. “Not gonna hurt you. You have anything else on you?”

“A knife in my back pocket.” It doesn’t even occur to you to lie; putting yourself in his good graces is your only option and you can’t do that by lying.

His hands slip under your jacket, the hem oversized and hanging even with your arms up, making a wrong guess at the first pocket he checks before grabbing the knife out of the second one.

“Anyone going to come sniffing around looking for you?” A fair question, but one that sticks like a knife between your ribs.

The “No,” that escapes you is softer than you meant it to be, voice warbling as you try not to cry.

Hormones would have had you on the verge of tears at any given point, and that would have been before the end of the world and before your group abandoned you. You’re well entitled to your tears, you think, but try to stuff them back down anyway.

“You’re out here alone,” he grouses, sounding like he doesn’t believe you. The like this? is implied.

Your arms are still up, and they’re getting tired. Everything tires you out these days.

Like he can read your mind, he releases you with a “you can set your arms down now, love.”

“Thank you,” you’re in full fawn mode, turning to face him. While he’s clearly decided against killing you, you’ve been scared and alone for the past few days and you really don’t want to be separated from the only person who will give you the time of day right now. 

“Is there anyone else here? Other soldiers?” Your fate is sealed and lies in the soldier’s hands regardless of his answer.

Nothing with change, no matter what he says, but you think you’re less intimidated if it’s just the two of you. 

The world’s gone to hell in a handbasket, and yet you’ll never forget watching 28 days later when the line I promised them women was dropped.

“Got separated from my team.”

He turns away from you, gesturing to follow him out of the kitchen and towards the living room.

He’s limping.

You haven’t seen him move until now. You’re more an expert on busted hardware than busted body parts, you can’t tell if it’s a fresh injury that’s still healing, or an old one that’s set in place.

“They left you.” They left me, too.

“They didn’t leave me for dead, they think I am dead. Gonna take a bit more than that to get the job done, though.” 

You have no reason not to believe him. Despite having just met him, the man is like a living manifestation of everything masculinity is supposed to be- down to the surly attitude despite him herding you further into the house. It doesn’t take much to figure out that he’s tough as nails and sure why not flirt in death’s face that her last attempt wasn’t good enough?

You sit on the couch he points to, as he settles into the leather chair across from you.

“Christ what’d I’d do for a fucking smoke right now,” he mumbles, pawing at his chest absent mindedly on reflex.

You mean to sit stiff as a board, but your body is tired and the couch is surprisingly comfortable.

The soldier, however, sits like he owns the house. “And now for the question of what to do with you.”

[vamphorica]

Because I hate being happy for more than two hours at a time, I've been considering to what extent Matt knew that Takada's kidnapping was a suicide mission.

I've been looking at this screenshot while I've been using it as a reference for a drawing and given that the poor boy is only designated sixty-nine seconds of screentime in the anime, I think it is interesting that there's a substantial pause on this specific frame. Matt is surrounded by Takada's bodyguards, unable to get out of the predicament he has found himself in. At this point, he believes there are two possible outcomes: he will either be arrested, or shot dead. You could interpret his expression here as apathetic, as that is how he tends to be characterised, but he sits in his car and looks out towards the row of headlights for about seven seconds. He considers his situation, acknowledging the number of men pointing their guns at him, and then he leaves his car.

The question is, did it occur to him then, or had he known beforehand, that his death was inevitable? Remember – Matt is one of a few characters in Death Note to be killed 'traditionally'. Should we take the Shinigami Eyes into consideration here, we have to assume that Matt is fated to die at this exact moment in time, regardless of circumstance. There is nothing that would have saved him from his demise that day.

However, I do wonder if, at nineteen years old, he is truly apathetic about his own life. I genuinely believe Mello sees his own death as an inevitable sacrifice, but I am not so convinced that Matt actually cares enough about defeating Kira to lay his life down for the cause alone. The manga suggests he leaves his car almost immediately upon being caught, and his final words, sadly, suggest a lack of foresight about the gravity of danger he is in.

Kira's world is not one in which justice prevails as Light envisioned, but rather it is an autocratic reign of terror. There is absolutely no chance in which Matt would be detained in a society in which death is considered the appropriate solution to crime. He is a Wammy's boy, but even if he had not have been associated with the House, Matt would have still been aware that his risk of death is heightened exponentially through his association with Mello alone.

In the anime, when Matt looks out the window of his car, we hear his inner monologue. Nonchalant, there is no fear to be heard in Drew Nelson's performance of the lines, and Matt's awareness of his impending death is presented as being limited. Is it an act? Or is Matt portrayed as lacking self awareness to such an extreme extent? Perhaps to 'justify' Matt's position as the third successor to L, Ohba felt the need to present Matt as ignoring the inevitable, but at least to me, this feels like it greatly undermines his intelligence. He may not be competing against Mello and Near, but that does not negate the fact he was still raised in the same institution that they were. All the children are freakishly smart, that is the whole point.

Did Mello propose the plan to kidnap Takada to Matt with the acknowledgement that they were both likely to be killed? Mello's final thoughts in the manga and anime are asking Matt for forgiveness, his death apparently unanticipated by the former, which feels like a failure in writing the deaths of these two in a manner that reflected who they were.

Matt is, by all accounts, a fandom project rather than a fully developed character within the Death Note canonical universe, but we are aware that Matt was created for Mello. I hardly expect Death Note to explore the intricacies of such themes in the series (particularly given, as much as I hate to admit it, Mello and Matt are not the main characters within the franchise). However, even with the rather minimal source material provided to us by both manga and anime, we are made aware that the two have a very unique relationship. They know each other intimately, and Matt does not fear Mello as many of the other characters in the series do.

Mello does not want Matt to die. He values Matt and while one could attribute the gratitude for him to the popular fan narrative that Matt is the one to look after Mello after the explosion, or indeed the idea that the two are in a relationship, their interactions with one another already set up their alliance as one that appears to transcend the regular boundaries of friendship. Again, I'm pulling a lot from fanon here, I know. Take it up with Ohba.

Narratively, if Mello has to die, so too does Matt. Ohba could not foresee this character that is so dependent on another to live beyond him. Yet I simply refuse to believe that Mello would have placed someone so important to him in a compromising position where the likelihood that he will be killed is almost certain. As much as I believe that Mello's final thoughts being directly addressed to the deceased Matt demonstrates an important ode to their relationship, I cannot understand how Mello would have been shocked to hear of Matt's death, given the risk.

We know Mello was fully aware that he was going to die that night. If he did not die, Near would have, and I think to Mello that would have been the greatest loss he could have suffered in their ongoing conflict. Regardless of whether you believe Mello cared about Near to any extent or not, I genuinely cannot imagine Mello would have been happy to succeed as L had it been attained through Near's 'sacrifice'. I am actually exploring an AU of this very idea in a fanfiction I intend to publish early next year, in case you're interested, haha.

This returns to the question as to when Matt realises he is not surviving this mission. Presumably Mello asked for his cooperation, and in doing so, he would have had to explain the plan to Matt which, quite frankly, reveals Mello's intent to die as soon as it is advantageous to do so. Given that Mello did not want Matt to be killed, did Mello reassure Matt that he had created the plan to guarantee his safety? Did Matt believe him? Was Mello deliberately vague, only telling Matt that he needed to set off the smoke gun, then hit the gas and get away from Takada's security team?

As far as I can tell, there is no reason as to why Mello would have been dishonest with Matt, explaining what he was planning to do and why. Perhaps he even suggested to Matt that he could find someone else to take on his position, given the danger he anticipated they would be in. Matt is, as I think the series makes clear, very loyal to Mello, and so I doubt such a proposal was even considered, but I think it is safe to assume that if Mello knew how this plan would end, so too would Matt, whether Mello explicitly told him or not. He would have figured it out.

When Matt and Mello part ways for the final time, not shown to us in either the manga or the anime, they both know that they are saying their last goodbye to one another. I think Mello hopes that Matt will survive somehow, experience a Kira-free world and move on with his life, but I believe Matt knows, well before he got caught, that there is no escape from the inevitability of his death.

Maybe, when he steps out of the car, confronted by the 'big guns', he holds out a little faith that at least he might see Mello again soon.

[orionremastered]

Are there another part for shapeshifter golden tiger reader :D i appreciate your writing so much! 💕

I've gotten another ask regarding a shifter!reader, so Imma just pile em up into one big AU. Send more shifter requests to have them added to the list! Even outside of gotham with other dc heroes would be cool. Like they've all got connections with other shifters online or sumin

shifter gang

?

Masterlist

Part One

Golden Pt. 2

It's been a few days since you last saw the pair, and maybe you're okay with that. Nights have been quiet yet cold, and you're getting excited about the temperature change that comes with spring.

Night patrols have been close to uneventful; save a kid or two there, maul a criminal of two here- the usual, in other words.

You're expecting the usual again tonight, just quiet patrolling and nothing extreme-

Look, you haven't been here for long, okay? Optimism, got it?

You're on the prowl for a missing girl, one that the bats no doubt have on their radar too, but you never know- you might get to her first. You went to the apartment where she lives and are confident that you could pinpoint her on her scent alone.

It's been an hour or two since you started looking and finally, you catch a whiff of the little girl's scent. You draw closer to an abandoned building, sneaking through structures to hide from the unforgiving street lights that flicker, forgotten by the city.

You jump onto a dumpster and into a broken window above it, landing quietly on the dusty floorboards. You can hear crying and the little girl's scent gets stronger.

Someone snaps at her as you draw closer, creeping up the stairs to the second floor. Thankful that the floor doesn't creak, you continue through the corridor of apartments, the number of each room fading from their painted places upon doors.

The screaming gets louder until you stop at a door, slightly ajar. You nudge it open with your nose and- you've luck- it's silent too.

"Shut the fuck up, dammit, you'll-"

The man doesn't get much more out of his mouth before you pounce, toppling both of you to the floor. Your fangs lock around his wrist, making him cry out in pain as you reach for the gun in his hand and throw it to the farthest corner of the room.

"Get-"

You snarl, pushing a set of sharp claws into the top of his spine. He yells curses that one should not around a child.

The window shatters beside you and two figures gracefully land in the room, one larger and one smaller by the sound of the thuds. You turn your head to glare, teeth bared and gleaming before you realise it's Robin and Batman- the duo one only fears if they're a criminal in the light of justice.

The man continues screaming, but not after giving one threatening snarl, deeper than any other you ever have.

"Leave the rest of this to us," Robin says calmly, and you're certain you like him more than the brooding knight in the corner near the gun.

He's allergic to those things anyway, so it's not like you're worried.

You step off the man's back and slowly approach the girl. She scrambles back and you remember you have blood still on your fangs. Still, you lower your head and attempt to look as harmless as a big cat can.

You can't grin when she reaches out to pet your head in case she sees your bloodied teeth. Once she realises you won't do her any harm, she scratches your neck and ears. Purring, you nudge her gently and lower yourself to the floor.

She's small enough to climb onto your back without it being too much of a struggle to stand and walk- she must be only five. She giggles, eyes red with tears, but she finds comfort in the warmth of your fur.

"GCPD has been called," the Bat says, glaring down at the criminal. You and Robin do the same. "Would you like us to take the girl to a hospital?"

You raise your head to look at him and flash your fangs, a solid 'no'.

"Whatever you think is best," Robin says, the Bat looking at him with a stare only a father could give to his son. "But wait, before you go-"

Robin smooths the short furs of your head and scratches underneath your ear. It takes you by surprise at first, but you don't snarl or bare your fangs at him, so he continues until he feels as though his father's glare has gone on long enough. "I told my siblings I'd pat you first. It's a bet, the only one I have participated in so far-" Batman snorts- "And I have won. As expected, I have succeeded."

You make a sound of amusement.

"Perhaps we shall work together again," the older of the two says. You huff, knowing you did all of this yourself, but nod anyway.

Perhaps it's time to make some friends -ones that aren't drowning in coffee and assignments, anyway.

Taglist: @veunho, @chevysstuffs, @carewerff, @xxrougefangxx, @yorkeylover

[waitforyrlove]

INTRODUCING

SPY! 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒 x SPY! 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑.

01. INTRODUCTION.

02. CHRISTOPHER STURNIOLO, BOSTON, MASS. 𖥔 ݁ ˖ he didn’t like you, so why should you like him? years and years being rivals from each secret work companies and either way, still finding each other in the same missions with the same deals, nonchalant, confident and charming, oh isn’t he lovely? don’t blow things out of proportion, maybe his charm will work on you.

03. SWEETESTGIRLINTOWN ||READER|| MIAMI, FLO. 𖥔 ݁ ˖ the typical type of girl that will leave you begging for more, chris and you never got along for the same meanings of working in different rivals secret companies for the government, but you couldn’t lie he had some spice added to his looks and personality, but you were different you could manipulate him either way and not make him question it, maybe he wasn’t so bad and neither were you.

04. FIRST MEETING.

in the dimly lit, in a abandoned warehouse, shadows stretched long across the cracked concrete floor. The air was thick with tension, thick enough to taste. The mission was clear: retrieve the encrypted intel that could shift the balance of power. But as the sound of footsteps echoed from the far corner, everything changed.

he saw you first, you were standing by the rusted metal crates, your silhouette barely visible in the gloom. He recognized you immediately.

you straightened your posture, your eyes gleaming in the dim light as they met his. There was no recognition, no surprise on your face. Christopher, the man you thought you’d never cross paths with again. He was the best, and you’d spent years tracing his footsteps, never quite catching up. But now, in this moment, it was clear—you were both after the same thing.

Chris took a step forward, his hand subtly hovering near the holster at his side, you mirrored him, but your expression remained calm, almost amused.

"You?" he said, voice low, a thread of disbelief lacing his words. He hadn't expected you to be there—let alone leading the same operation.

"Don't look so surprised," you replied, your tone light but with a sharp edge. "We both know we're after the same intel, don't we?"

the realization hit both at once, you both were working for rival agencies, but the endgame was the same—both governments had their eyes on the same purposes. A dangerous game.

Chris’s gaze flickered to the bag slung over your shoulder, it was too small to contain the intel, but the device inside it could easily be a decoy. He knew you too well enough to recognize your tactics. "I hope you’re not expecting a fight. We both want the same thing," he said, though his hand was still near his weapon.

your lips curled into a faint smirk. "I don’t expect anything. But if you're planning on stopping me, you're in for a surprise."

for a moment, the tension was so thick it could be cut with a knife, two forces drawn together by fate—different sides of the same coin, each trained in deception, intelligence, and manipulation. The rules were unspoken, but you both understood them. Neither could afford to trust the other.

Then, without warning, you moved, your body shifted like a shadow, making him instinctively reach for his gun—but before either could draw, the ground trembled slightly. The warehouse's lights flickered and buzzed.

"Looks like we’re not the only ones here," the brunette said, stepping aside as the distant sound of footsteps echoed from the entrance, the mission had just gotten more complicated.

for the first time in two years, he was faced with an equal. Someone who knew his every move, and worse—someone who could turn it all against him, your rivalry with him had just turned into an unspoken alliance, if only for the next few minutes.

you shot him a look, silently daring him to make the first move. “Make the honors,” you asked, your voice barely more than a whisper, your hand now on the concealed weapon beneath your coat.

© eternaldecisions. all rights deserved. do not copy my works. or modify my work.

˙ . ꒷ 🪽 notes from author ˙— so excited for this hehe, might be my favorite trope i ever thought about !! also madison beer will be the face claim, but u can also use ur imagination.

taglist: @fawnchives @pearlzier @et6rnalsun @mattscoquette @carvedtits @sirenedeslily @mattslolita @flouvela @jetaimevous @archiebabiesworld @bella-loveschris @lovingregulusblack @sarosfilms @annsx03 @eliana-4200 @wakeupitschrizz

[temporarywelcome]

Leash - Spencer Reid

Words: 2.6k

Summary: Spencer caught his girlfriend cleaning up after a terrible act.

CONTENT WARNINGS: blood, swearing, unsub!reader

A/N: lol I wrote this for a creative writing project and gave Spencer a different name so if there's a typo I missed that's mb

____

The signs his girlfriend was a serial killer were there. 

They were clear, bright as day, he was a profiler for God’s sake of course he saw the signs. Yet he ignored them, practically had a hand over his eyes to block out the issue. Just pretending he didn’t see it. Pretending he didn’t know. 

A part of him tried to rationalize the situation. There was no way his lovely girlfriend was the one doing these heinous crimes. The same lovely girlfriend who listened to his nerdy rambles without getting bored. The same girlfriend who was always ready to comfort him after a traumatizing case, stroking his hair and rubbing his back and telling him everything was going to be okay. The same girl who constantly spoke about the future she saw with him. 

No, she couldn’t be a serial killer. 

But the blood on her hands said otherwise. 

Spencer was supposed to be on a case, but it ended abruptly. The killer had chosen a victim that was able to outsmart him. Less of a victim story, more of a survivor. So Spencer found himself and his team back on an airplane home, FBI duties over. He had planned on surprising his lover at their shared apartment, flowers in hand as he quietly unlocked the door. 

Closing the door, he silently padded through the halls, passing all the photographs on the walls of them together. The photographs Y/N had taken the time to print and put up, many of them being her idea to take. She was so loving. So sweet. No, she was no killer. 

No killer would have surprised him with that dinner date at the beach. No killer would have bought him a new telescope for his birthday. No killer would be the woman photographed throughout these walls with that beautiful smile and big heart. 

Hearing the sound of the faucet in the bedroom, Spencer entered, seeing the bathroom door open. He was expecting to see her hastily doing her hair, working diligently with products laid out throughout the entirety of the marble counters. Or doing her intensive skincare routine after a face mask, scrubbing the colorful clay from her face. 

Yes, he expected something simple and mundane like that. 

So when he stepped through the open doorway and saw the tub, he was in shock. The water was running, it was the tub, not the sink, but the water in the tub was tinted red. His mind immediately tried to rationalize it, she was doing some crazy project. She was dyeing a dress red, right? Yes! Something like that! That must be it!

But no, she was seated on her knees, hands hovering over the water. Red hands. Bloodied hands. No no no, Spencer, not blood! Red dye! Yes yes yes.

No amount of gaslighting could explain the butcher knife balanced on the edge of the tub. The mysterious red (Jesus Christ, Spencer, it was blood, stop trying to play yourself!) that stained the front of her purple shirt.  

“Spencer,” she breathed out. They were staring at each other for a good thirty seconds before she spoke. He stared. She stared back.

He finally spoke, “Who’s blood is that?”

She looked down at her bloodied hands, bottom lip between her teeth, “Um,”

“Who’s blood is that?” he repeated. He should be drawing his gun right now, releasing it from its spot on his belt. But it stayed in its holster, his hands at his sides. 

“I don’t know,” 

“What do you mean you don’t know?!” he felt his palms begin to sweat, eyes darting around the bathroom anxiously.

“I don’t know,” Y/N repeated, dunking her hands into the water, beginning to scrub at them. How could she be so calm right now? 

Because she did nothing wrong, of course (of course she did something wrong, there’s so much blood)!

His eyes went to the floor, checkered tiles. Black and white, now with red splatters. Festive. “Did you kill somebody?” Stupid freaking question. He was a supposed genius, asking his girlfriend who practically painted the walls with blood if she killed somebody. 

“Yes,”

“Were they trying to hurt you?”

“No,”

How the hell was she so calm? Telling her FBI boyfriend she killed someone for no necessary reason? It then occurred to him she was so calm because she knew. She knew he wasn’t going to do shit. He was still standing with his feet planted, hands at his sides, flower bouquet forgotten on the floor. No gun drawn. No cuffs out. Nothing. 

“Why did you do it then?!” he was starting to get frustrated, thin fingers trembling, He brought a hand up, biting his thumbnail in nervousness. His heart was beginning to beat so fast he feared a heart attack coming. 

“I don’t know,” Y/N started scrubbing at her hands faster, sniffling.

His poor heart was telling him to fall to his knees and bring her into his arms, tell her everything was going to be okay as he wiped her tears away. His brain, his rationality kept him unmoving. She was a murderer. His job was to literally catch people like her when the police couldn’t. 

“...how many?”

She stopped the scrubbing to look up at him, “What?”

“How many fucking people have you killed, Y/N?!” his voice rose, quivering as he felt his throat tighten. Tight, scratchy, sore, like when you wake up in the morning and realize you have a cold or fever. 

“This is a third,” she replied. 

Three. She really was a serial killer. 

“You killed three people,” Spencer whispered slowly, finally sinking to his knees, “Oh my God,”

“You don’t believe in God,” she pointed out simply. 

She was right. He didn’t. He was a man of science, he always was. But he was in distress, was he not allowed to say whatever came to his mind? To be fair, he felt there were more important things to discuss than his religious beliefs. Or, well, lack of.

“Does that even matter?” he snapped, fingers tangling into his hair and tugging at the strands in stress. And like always, almost as if it were a reflex, Y/N reached out, pink-tinted hands gripping his.

“Don’t pull your hair,” she said in that stern but loving voice he was so used to, the voice he was honestly craving and needed to hear right now. “I hate seeing you hurt yourself,”

‘I hate seeing you hurt yourself,’ said the killer in front of him. How odd. How ironic and strange. 

Yet he still allowed her to bring his hands to his sides, still gripping them. Yet he still leaned forward and rested his head on her shoulder, breathing in her scent. Her usual assortment of mixed fruits blended into her favorite body spray, with a little mix of blood, which kind of ruined the comfort he was trying to get. 

Everything was kind of ruined. 

“You know I would never hurt you, right?” she whispered, releasing his hands so she could wrap her arms around him, rubbing his back in that soothing motion that always made him melt. Oh God did he just want to melt into her and forget this was fucking happening. Forget all she has done. “I love you, and nothing is going to change that. Nothing,”

It didn’t sound like she was lying. He was a profiler, he knew how to catch a liar. However, he didn’t catch when she killed two other people. He didn’t catch that. He didn’t see the signs. So what are the chances she was lying about loving him? 

He never paid attention to how she always was so emotionless with anyone but him. He never paid attention to how she refused to get any pets, and when he brought a stray cat home one day thinking she would love it, it mysteriously vanished. He never paid attention to how possessive she was of him, the amount of times he had to pull her off of girls giving him advances. 

He saw none of the signs. So what did he really know?

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what broke Spencer Reid’s heart into a million tiny pieces. 

“Hey, look at me,” Y/N pulled away, gripping his chin and forcing him to look into her eyes, “I never even knew what love felt like till I met you. Do you really think I’m going to throw it all away? Throw away everything I’ve built with you?”

“Y-You’re a liar,” he stuttered out, eyes darting over her shoulder, refusing to meet her gaze, “You’re lying to me so I’d let you go,”

“I’m not lying to you,” she sighed, cupping his cheeks, “Arrest me, I don’t care. I just want you to know the truth. You’re the only thing that seems right in my life,” 

“Stop it,” Mustering up the courage, he finally pushed her away, a harsh shove to her shoulders sending them both in opposite directions on the ground, “Stop lying to me!”

Y/N yelped as she fell onto her back, giving him a glare, “Spencer what the hell?!”

“Why are you talking to me like I’m crazy? You killed three people, I’m allowed to act crazy!” his hands balled into fists at his sides, digging into the flesh of his palms in an attempt to calm himself down. Why did it feel so hot in there? He was sweating so hard. It felt like he was going to collapse of heatstroke. He scrambled to his feet, taking deep breaths to calm his breathing.

“Baby…” she stood up as well, “It’s going to be okay-”

“No it’s not!” How could she say something like that? She really thought that after ending three lives, everything was going to be okay? They were screwed.

“Fine,” she groaned, “Let me rephrase that. You’re going to be okay,”

“No, I’m not!” Spencer shook his head, and with that, the first tear fell. Crap. “How am I going to be okay knowing my freaking girlfriend just became a serial killer?!”

“Because you’re going to arrest me, and I’m going to go to prison, and you’re going to move on with your life and find someone better and get married and have a bunch of nerdy, genius babies and live a happy life.” she held out her arms, “Do it.”

“Do what…?” he already knew what. But the thought of it was terrifying to him. It’s what he should do, but he wasn’t sure he had the courage. 

“Cut the bullshit. You know what? Arrest me. Grab the cuffs,” 

Just grab the handcuffs and be done with it. Arrest her. Let her go.

Let her go.

Yes, figuratively. Let her go from your mind, your life.

Let her go…

Yes, be done with her. Handcuff her and let her go… to prison.

“Get out of here,” 

What?

She blinked, looking at him with her arms still outstretched to him, trying to figure out if she had heard wrong. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Spencer turned on his heel, walking out and into the bedroom. Opening the closet, he began yanking her clothes off of their hangers and tossing them onto the bed, “Get out,”

“Um,  no,” she followed after him, pressing her wrists together and raising them to his face, “Cuff me!”

“Get the hell out,” he grabbed a suitcase from the top shelf, bringing it down and placing it on the bed. 

“Why aren’t you arresting me?” Y/N stayed hot at his heels, right behind him through every step he took, “Why aren’t you arresting me?”

“Because you’re going to leave,” Spencer unzipped the suitcase, beginning to fold her clothes messily and tossing them inside in his hurry, “And never come back,”

“...really?” 

“Yes.”

“But-”

“-Y/N,” he stopped his movements, looking at her, “You need to leave,”

“Why aren’t you arresting me?!” she was getting frustrated now, scared he was now playing some game with her. She knew Spencer though, this was not in his personality. Toying with her. Letting a serial killer go, however, was also not in his personality. 

Biting his bottom lip, he replied with: “Because I love you,” 

Letting her go was a mistake. 

He knew that it was going to be a mistake when he had let her go. Yet he still did it. He still had let her go, sent her off with a passionate kiss, then proceeded to cry himself to sleep that night. And every night for the first ten days. 

After that, he still felt terrible, but forced himself to move on with his life in the best way he could. 

Which was hard when every month or so, opening up the P.O. box in the lobby of his apartment complex, he would find letters. Anonymous letters typed out in what he knew was typewriter from the smudges. 

He didn’t need to be an FBI agent to understand who this anonymous person was. 

Letters expressing how much this sender missed him, how they thought of him everyday. How he would always be the love of their life, how they would ever forget about him. The sender was confident they would not be caught, describing which city they were in at that moment, what they were up to.

Spencer never wrote back. This anonymous writer didn’t care. Y/N didn’t care. 

He knew where she was, but never went to her. He noticed the trail of bodies in the media every time he would research any crimes in the areas she was at. He never went to stop her. 

Wouldn’t that make him just as bad as her? Just as much of a killer? Allowing her to continue this? Allowing her to end these lives?

To him, yes, that made him just as bad. 

Yet he never stopped her. 

He created a new profile on Y/N practically every day, trying to make sense of her behavior. Much of it made sense. The urge to kill, not being able to stop herself. The remorse in how she laid out the bodies. A common occurence. Her being a woman threw off the profile slightly, considering usually female serial killers didn’t act on impulse, going for more calculated and purposeful murders. Other than htat, the profile was solid. 

Well, except for one other thing. 

Him. 

Maybe he only thought this way because he wanted it to be true. Maybe he was being delusional and lovesick. But it seemed like she genuinely loved him, genuinely did think of him as the love of her life. 

She shouldn’t be capable of such emotions. 

Yet she wrote to him every week, told him way more than someone on the run should. Yet she would sometimes send little packages for him. 

Yet as there was a knock on the door and he looked through the peephole, she was there. There with her usual smile and a box of whatever goodies she came up with. How dare she show up here after her whole spiel about him moving on and finding someone better? How dare she show up to the home of an FBI agent when she had killed over twelve people at this point? 

Perhaps it was because she was lonely, always moving, always alone. And she knew he would never let her get caught. She was always his priority.

He had tried so hard to let her go, when in reality he was handcuffed to her, bound to her like a dog on a leash. 

Reaching out, his fingers wrapped around the doorknob, twisting it open.

[midnight1nk]

So, this week's episode...

[Spoilers below cut]

I'm absolutely terrified, it's not even funny. I can't even click it. But I have to... for the LOREEEEEEEEE... okay, let's-a go....

(The following is my live reaction:)

ay the TADC plug, of course

"Born to shit, Forced to wipe" - not smg3

wise words Three

also, the Ferris Wheel and rollercoaster thing is still there in the background (Ferris Wheel wedding, my beloved...)

I knew someone was going to bring up Meggy and her disappearance

LEGGY! MEGGY, WE'LL RESCUE YOU I PROMISE!!!

THANK YOU THREE for asking the right questions here

oh... not what I expected. at least the crew knows this is obviously Mr Puzzles

NAME DROP

OK, a LOT to digest here:

These are all the possible minigames that we might see in WOTFI. Well, at least all the attractions we could see...

a Mr Puzzles Chonk plush (in the bottom right)

a Tunnel of Love attraction... hmmmm.......

Huh, I didn't know this was by the coast of the Mushroom Kingdom. Or it could be an island/peninsula.

The what now, Leggy?

YEP I knew that once they found out, they would want to leave

...and of course, Mario wants to stay

Yeah, Luigi said it himself

but also, look at the Mr Puzzles cardboard cutout in the back, he's wearing Meggy's cowboy hat from Western Spaghetti

Alright, but before we go in, we gotta have a buddy system, guys

All these critiques are going to make Mr Puzzles lose himself even more than he already is

I think I saw someone posted about submitting a water gun game so congrats for getting in!

Leggy Plush!!

also spider-man plush... symbiote... venom... GOOP!4????

...Once Upon A Perfect SMG4?

[*points at Four and Mario*] The sillies

ok, but like, why is Three smiling like that while everyone else looks so disappointed?

They did the buddy system!

Bob: "Those dumbasses will see ANYTHING and get excited."

I feel seen and I don't like it.

I don't like this either. I already know this is a trap but like noooooo

Three just standing there like a dad watching over his kid

Someone else also submitted a mini-game involving a ducky fishing game

GOD DAYUM.... why did you have to pose like that, Three? You're not beating the allegations, huh.

Aw, Three really wanted to enjoy a carnival if Mr Puzzles wasn't involved (writers, write that down + carnival dates)

OK NOPE WE NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE NOW

🫵 🏳️‍🌈⁉️

oh c'mon now, it's just plainly obvious. Not that it should be surprising, everyone's part of the skittle squad (tm)

STRONG WOMEN we love to see it

...that can't be a real thing... can it?

same Luigi same

YES PLEASE CAN WE?

sorry dude, they really locked in

also what the hell is that building in the back?

Luigi (or rather the SMG4 fandom): "See? I can handle this! I'm not afraid anymore! Do you hear me? I'm not afraid-" [*horror jumpscare*] [*scream*]

NOT EVEN MELONY'S GOD POWERS COULD HELP US, WE'RE FUCKED

NOOOOOO NOT KAREN AND SAIKO

THREE WE NEED TO LEAVE NOW

NOOOOOOOO THREEEEE I THOUGHT HE WAS GOING TO BE THE LAST ONE TO MAKE IT OUT

[*sobbing*] he sent one last text to warn them :( he really does care

AND HE SENT IT TO FOUR [*head in hands*]

the contact names they have for each other.... (I'm not well)

WE GOTTA GO [*runs*] GET OUT GET OUT

Leggy... why did your face change like that?

WHAT WAS THAT CRYPTIC CAPTION?!

Mario, please don't sacrifice yourself... oh, thank god! They really are having me panicking for the smallest things

wait... OMG THEY SAW MY SUBMISSION! THEY SAW IT!

the mini-game challenge that I submitted:

Pop & Whirl: Everyone gets a bag of popcorn. The winner must keep all of their popped kernels in their bag, without dropping a single one... while being chased around the carnival by a collapsed Ferris Wheel (Professor Layton style)!

I DON'T CARE IF IT DOESN'T HAPPEN AGAIN IN WOTFI, I'LL TAKE IT. But if it does happen, I'll draw lawyer Meggy with a redesigned Ace Attorney-esque outfit (somehow)

please don't tell me the green pipe is also a trap...

...the exit door from TADC?

oh god, why does this remind me of the dark web?

and the eyes on the mushrooms... [*IGBP flashbacks*]

heh heh, funny mirrors... AH SHIT PUZZLES, DON'T JUMPSCARE ME LIKE THAT

actually, now that I think of it, Mr Puzzles hasn't revealed himself this whole time...

THE DIDNEY ENGINE ROOM?!

...holy shit

so was I right about us getting to see Mr Puzzles' "truest form" and the whole "Eye of Ra" thing?

are those his arms? and the circle things, it could be part of his cyborg texture but they also look like eyes.

the fog part is really interesting because they could've gone with any "spooky" color but they chose this. It's the creative vision, the one Didney had in this room.

This really reminds me of the goo from IGBP and Wren's wire simulation in Western Spaghetti, but also from this angle, a bit of Zero's "no legs" body design.

"His obsession becoming his identity" - Puzzles connected himself to the single star Didney had. You got it right, past Ink.

HUH?! YOU CAN'T END IT THERE

AND THEY GRAY-ED OUT OUTRO, NO MUSIC! IT'S ABOUT TO GO DOWN, GUYS

also congrats to Nikej1708241 for making it to the credits 🎉

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

That was a pretty solid episode ngl. Probably not as "plot twist-y"

(i know that's not a word) as the previous episode but my spaghetti gods, it delivered! Not Marty again, we may have to rethink this one.

Ok, I've made a list of all the attractions and mini-games there are in the carnival grounds in Puzzle Park:

Ferris Wheel

"Tender Tunnel" (Tunnel of Love attraction)

Merry-Go-Round carousel

Basketball arcade game

Hammer game

Bumper Cars

"House of Crazy" funhouse (also that fits Mr Puzzles somehow)

A spooky cart ride

Water gun game

Rocket ride

Arcade (just flat-out an arcade)

Clown Ball Game

(There's apparently a cafe???)

Ducky Pond fishing game

Pizza shop (....marty?)

It's probably not all of them, we would just have to wait and see, but if you submitted a mini-game that involves any of these, congrats, you likely got in!!!

I still very much enjoyed this episode and some of what I theorized could possibly come true. And some didn't, which is totally okay with me. I'll cherish the Ferris Wheel chase scene regardless :)

We still have to wait for a trailer or a special video in regards to WOTFI, which I will have to analyze and see what's to be expected. From the looks of it in this episode, it seems like it's up to SMG4 and Mario to rescue their friends one by one by completing the mini-games. The more people they rescue, the more help they can get to complete the games. And that includes saving Meggy at the end.

Now, personally, I don't want Mr Puzzles to die. Not yet. There is still a lot of potential that could go for him. A similar redemption arc just as Three went through. Puzzlevision 2. Goop!4. Marty. Anything could happen. Then again, he could die.

Now you might think he might not die because he has a plushie, but there's literally merch of Axol and Desti and they're dead. Puzzles isn't safe from this possibility.

Put in your final bets, my dear fellows, because nothing will ever be the same again...

[storiesofsvu]

Communication Error

Alex Blake x reader warnings: mild language, hurt/comfort kinda, usual BAU type of situations and violence.

The BAU had been in San Antonio for nearly two weeks already, the team had been called in a little earlier than usual but the case was striking right from the start. You’d spent hours droning over case files, evidence, cold cases and every chance you seemed to get at the unsub he was always a step ahead of you. The final straw was when he broke pattern, kidnapping the daughter of his murder victims rather than leaving her at the scene.

Tensions were running high, press, locals and the upper brass all beating down on the BAU to figure things out quickly and safely. You’d been in close quarters all week, there was not a moment to be had to oneself as everyone was bunking with someone else and everyone was on edge. There had been far too little sleep, an overconsumption of caffeine and definitely not enough food.

It was safe to say everything about the situation was escalated.

It didn’t even matter that you happened to be working the case with your girlfriend, you and Alex had barely had a moment of peace and definitely not a moment of privacy since arriving and no one else on the team knew you were together. JJ and Garcia had been sharing a room up until a pipe burst in their bathroom on the first and now all four of you were crammed together in one dingy hotel room. You were ‘forced’ into sharing the same bed but your subconscious spent the entire time you managed to get sleep fighting itself in a reminder that you shouldn’t exactly be cuddling. Unable to properly communicate over the week lead to both of you being on edge and there was no relief of a little hand hold, a tender kiss pressed to the other’s temple in reassurance or soft ‘I love you’s’ in moments of need.

When you finally caught up with the unsub in a warehouse on the outskirts of town everyone was on high alert, vests on, guns at the ready and attempting to make a plan about what was going to go down. Garcia had found a back entrance into the warehouse, one that it seemed the unsub was unaware of and it was certain you would be going in through there to retain the element of surprise. Problem was it was only big enough for one person to finagle their way through.  

“Wilson!” The local swat team leader called out and your head shot up.

“Yes sir?”

“I’m givin’ you the lead with this, you comfortable doing that?”

“Yes sir, of course.” You glanced over to Hotch, watching as his jaw tensed ever so lightly before giving you a once over and a trusting nod.

“Are you sure about that?” Alex suddenly asked and your brow furrowed at her, unsure if she was directing your question to you, Hotch or swat.

“I have complete confidence Wilson can do it.” Hotch replied, “I’d expect everyone on the team to trust my judgment.”

“This unsub is convoluted,” Alex continued, “he twists things around, he’s incredibly hard to read, and according to the profile he’s not afraid to take anyone out to get away.”

“And she knows all that.” Aaron nodded toward you and you returned the gesture while swat continued to fully suit you up.

“I just think that maybe a more experienced member of the team should be going in.” Alex protested and this time your head shot up to hers, a mixture of hurt and offended drawn across your face.

“Excuse me?”

“This guy, he’s duplicitous, he’ll talk riddles around you to draw your attention away from what he’s doing to get the jump on you.”

“Oh, so you’re not just doubting my ability to do my job, now you’re calling me stupid.”

“I think it’s a bad idea.”

“And for every second we stand out here while you berate me we’re wasting time and losing the opportunity to save that girl. I’m suited up, I know what I’m doing and last time I checked I didn’t need your vote of confidence to do my job.”

You glanced towards Hotch who simply stood his ground, nodding to you once again before you turned back to swat to get your ear piece put in and were quickly guided around the building. There was only a beat of silence before Alex spoke up again.

“Hotch I really think this is a bad idea. She’s the newest to the team, she’s barely worked three full cases, there’s been more paperwork than unsubs—”

“Blake.” He cut in, voice stern, “you’re out of line. Wilson has almost four years of hostage negotiation with NYPD under her belt, not only does she have a very good understanding of what she’s doing, she’s the best out of all of us to go in there. I wouldn’t even put my own skills above hers today. So you can either head back to the cars, or you can join us in having your team member’s back.”

Alex took a deep breath, sucking down any and all responses she had but Hotch didn’t miss the way her nostrils flared, her eyes tense as she bit her lip and shut up. Instead her hands went back to her hips, one already stationed ready over her gun as she tried to control the way her heart was hammering in her chest. While she certainly hadn’t known about your specific role with NYPD and was a little less worried about you being in there alone, she still didn’t want you getting hurt. You’d been in deep with this one, relating a little too much to the kidnapped victim and she was worried about what you might do to get her free. Now all she could do was wait.

She honestly wasn’t sure if it was the way her blood was pumping so loudly in her ears, or if there really was that much static over her earpiece. She could hear your hushed voice crackling through every so often as you cleared the first couple of rooms, making sure to check in with your team, she faintly heard something else and by the way Morgan’s eyes shot toward the warehouse she was certain you’d found the unsub. This was the part she hated the most, she wanted to be in there with you, or at least in your ear, guiding you through what could very much help you talk this guy down if your own tactics didn’t seem to be working. It was driving her insane that none of them could hear what you were saying, it was clear you had adjusted your radio to attempt to keep the audio button pressed down, pinched between your belt and hip but it still kept cutting in and out.

If you had asked, she could have sworn they were standing outside of that goddamn building all night, the anxiety coursing through her body causing her muscles to tense, nearly aching by the time Reid’s head shot up.

“She’s coming out!”

In reality it had been just over forty minutes. But those forty minutes had been absolutely agonizing as she prayed for your safety while still trying to focus enough to stay sharp and do her job.

The door to the warehouse booted open and the unsub was the first to appear, cuffs on his wrists, hands on his head. You had one hand sturdy on his shoulder while the other one was being clutched by the girl on your side. Swat hustled in, quickly taking the guy down to the ground while they did a more thorough search before escorting him to the car. The team relaxed, the tension surging through them finally beginning to melt away as you glanced around the lot, beginning to lead the girl over to them.

Somehow, you heard it first and your ears picked up that it was coming from behind you, a shot fired from the roof of the warehouse. There was a cacophony of yelling, screams and very sudden nearly panicked rush of movement. All you could think of was making sure that the girl made it out in one piece, shoving her in front of you as you nearly hit the ground, enveloping her in your embrace.

“GO!” Hotch’s yell was barely audible over your ringing ears, “Morgan take the back.”

Gusts of air raced passed either side of you and a rock must’ve been kicked up, your arm began to sting, pain beginning to prickle through your body. You heard another couple of shots ring through the night air and wrapped tighter around the girl.

“He’s running.” Alex’s voice was suddenly at your side, her hand gently resting on your shoulder and you were able to relax, your hand still tightly clutched in the girl’s.

“Then go!” You urged her, waving in the proper direction.

“You’re hit. I’m not going anywhere.” She insisted and the pain in your arm suddenly increased by a tenfold.

“I’m fine!” You assured her, glancing down to see the tear in your shirt, looking to the ground in front of you, you spotted the bullet, still in one piece and nearly as clean as it had come out of the gun.

“No you’re not. You’re bleeding.” Alex’s fingers delicately tugged at the fabric of your sleeve trying to get a better look at it.

“It’s barely a scrape! Go help the team.”

“I don’t care!” She nearly snapped back and when you finally looked up and caught her gaze there was a misting of tears in her eyes, “you are what’s important to me right now.”

“Okay.” You nodded softly, standing to your full height and scooping up the girl with your non injured side to carry on your hip over to the medics.

Alex couldn’t help herself, chewing on her fingernail as the paramedic urged you into the back of the ambulance for better lighting. She could feel her leg shaking and finally succumbed to the pressure, beginning to pace, her feet kicking at the gravel a welcomed distraction until the medic jumped down from the bus. Her head shot up, catching the moment you dropped down to sitting on the back of the rig, an orange juice in your non injured hand.

“You okay?” She asked timidly, approaching you.

“Yeah.” You nodded, gesturing toward the bandage on your arm, “just a graze, no stitches necessary.”

“Oh thank god.” She let out a huge breath, the relief flooding through her body all at once so intensely she had to drop down beside you and you were quick to catch her trembling hand in yours.

“Alex… I’m fine. We’re both fine. We’ve both seen and handled worse.”

She made a meek noise, avoiding your gaze as her fingers tapped a rhythm on her thigh and against your palm. A brief silence over took the back of the rig while she calmed herself and made an attempt at sorting her thoughts.

“I’m sorry.” She finally spoke, “I was out of line.” She risked a glance up at you, “please know that I have never and will never doubt your abilities, you’re incredible at what you do. I was just scared. I guess… I guess I was putting personal thoughts above professional ones, and I had no idea about you being a hostage negotiator.”

“It never came up.” You shrugged, “and I shouldn’t have snapped back either.” You smiled softly, squeezing at her hand, “it’s been such a long week, we’re all exhausted. And I know that’s no excuse…”

“Still a contributing factor.” She finally cracked a small smile and you laughed softly, leaning in to leave a gentle kiss on her cheek.

“How did two people with careers built on clear and concise communication skills end up sucking at it when it comes to outside of work?” You asked with a laugh, pulling one from Alex.

“I don’t know.” She softly squeezed your hand, “it’s something to work on.” Her hand wrapped around you, pulling your head to her so she could leave a tender kiss on your temple. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The sound of a boot on gravel broke through your little happy moment and both of your heads shot up to find Hotch standing in front of you, a brow raised in your direction.

“If you’d like you can keep pretending the entire team didn’t already know, but in the future I’d hope it doesn’t affect any of our cases.”

“Yes sir.”

“Sorry sir.”

“And I expect that paperwork on my desk by the time we land.” He eyed you for a moment before his lips split into a small smile, “good work today Wilson. I’m glad you have someone like Blake to have your back, even if she does get a bit pushy at times.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that burst from your mouth as Alex let out a scoff, Hotch turning away with a gleam in his eye.  

_____________

@svulife-rl rl @clarawatson @hbkpop @momlifebehard @itisdoctortoyousir @temilyrights @alexxavicry @evilregal2002 @ladysc @dextur @disneyfan624 @augustvandyne @supercriminalbean @lex13cm @happenstnces @whiteberryx @geekyandgay98 @onmykneesformarvel @inlovewithemilyprentiss @desperate-gay @amypoehlfey @overtrred28 @emobabeyy @leftoverenvy @daddy-heather-dunbar @regalmilfs4me @scorpsik @riveramorylunar @h-doodles @maybe-a-humanbean @rustyzebra @s1ut4nat @inlovewithmiddleagewomen @tommyriddleobsessed @ollysmulti @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @ara-a-bird @hopedoesntknow @dj-bynum3718 @venromanova @noahrex @imlike-so-gaydude @nachofriess @cx-emerald-cx cx @momily @moonlightjxuregui @gamma-rae-bursts

[adams-angels]

Hello dear writer! Whenever you have time would you consider doing a fluff and maybe smut piece about how Adam would be on a restaurant date? I’m so curious how he would act since they didn’t have dates when he was alive a trillion billion million years ago.

And Valentine’s Day has me way up in the feels 🥹

Thank you bebe 🩵

A bit late for Valentine's day but better late than never babes 😎 this was longer than I was expecting 🫢

💖 Please send me requests! Send me your own headcanons! I will draw! I'm obsessed rn!💖

Valentines

It's been a while since Adams been on a "date" if you could even call it that. The last "date" he had was with Eve in the Garden of Eden. So... Yeah. A while might be an understatement. He also hated the day. Like many holidays. Why should SaInT vAlEnTiNe get a whole holiday after him?! Adam is the ORIGINAL dick. If anything there should be a holiday celebrated for HIM. But, whatever. You were into it. And he was into you.

He was so nervous when he asked you out for Valentine's day. He waited until last minute before finally getting the courage to ask. Ten o'clock at night he frantically knocked at your door. You hurried to answer, the panic filled your body at the knocking. It was desperate, like someone needed help. When you opened the door and saw a panting Adam you were confused. Was he hurt? Before you could say anything he put his hand up to your face signaling you to not speak as he caught his breath. It was odd why he was out of breath. He flies everywhere. Did he run? "Be- huff- will you- jesus, fuck- pant-" his hand were on his knees as he choked on his breath. "Ada-" hand in your face. Rude. He straightened himself out, at least as much as he could in the small apartment hallway. The apartment was made for smaller Winners not 8 foot Giants like Adam. "Be my Valentine?" He panted out. Of course you said yes! What can you say? You've been crushing on him for, like, ever! You never picked up that he likes you back. Even though he was never subtle. "Cool- pant- text you the deetz." He shot you some finger guns before leaving.

So now it's Valentine's day! 💘 Cupid's shot his arrow and hit you. You're feeling fun, flirty, and feisty. You put on your cutest outfit and checked yourself in the mirror. Is cute what you're going for? It's your first date. But it is Valentine's day. You don't wanna be prudish. You change into something a bit more revealing and again checked yourself. This might be a bit too sexy.. slutty even! You don't want to give the impression that you put out of the first day! Even if you do. No. This needs to be perfect. You think to yourself... "I bet Adam isn't having this much trouble."

You weren't wrong. Adam was much more relaxed. Too relaxed. Why would he be nervous? He's the man. In fact he was out right now looking at new guitars. When he left the store he saw Valentine, surrounded by his Cupid's. "Augh." Adam grunted, not wanting to interact with the Saint. "Adam!" Shit. "A little birdy told me you've got a Valentine's this year. It's been what? Centuries?" Valentine laughed. Adam rolled his eyes, then glared at him. "Yeah? So what? I figured it's a good way to get free pussy." Adam shrugged as a cocky grin formed on his face. The Cupid angels surrounding Saint Valentine cringed. "Oh, Adam. Come now! This is a holiday of love and romance. Not cheap pickups!" The man placed a hand on Adam shoulder which he immediately shrugged off. "So, are you going anywhere special? Have you bought the lucky angel flowers? Chocolates? A gift of adoration?" "Uh.. what?" "You haven't bought them anything have you?" The man laughed, putting his hand on Adams shoulder again pulling Adam closer. "Good luck getting fucked, playboy." He hissed with a wicked smirk. Valentine released Adams shoulder laughing. "Happy Valentine's days!" He said before flying away with his cupids. "Motherfucker!" Adam's flew off to the nearest store to get you some flowers.

When he arrived the flower section was bare. Maybe one half dead rose. "What the hell?" He flew all over the store looking for anything Valentines related. "No, no, no!" He stopped in one of the aisles before finding worker. "Hey! Where the fuck is the stuff?" "S-stuff, sir?" Adam gestures around the store. "You know! The fucking Valentines shit! Where is it?!" The poor retail worker fretted telling him there was nothing left. "V-valentines day is o-one of the most popular days of the year sir... There's nothing left.." "NOTHING LEFT?!?!" Adam yelled. His voice booming around the store causing shelfs to shake knocking almost everything off. "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN NOTHING LEFT?! I NEED SOMETHING FOR TONIGHT!!!" "I - I'm sorry, sir!" The poor angels voice shuddered. Adam groaned, balling his hands into fists. He was about to leave before he noticed a bottle of soda that hadn't fallen. He pushed it off the shelf for good measure before storming out of the store.

He wasn't going to spend all day looking for shit of this shitty holiday. He hated it. This was dumb! He's gift enough. Still, he takes his phone and texts Lute

"URGENT! flowers! Plz get 4 me thx dngrtits"

That'll do. He heads home to get ready for your date.

～⁠♡✧⁠｡ I really hope you enjoyed! I'm not a writer by any means but I appreciate any support I receive so thank you for reading! ｡✧⁠♡～⁠

The time comes and Adam is waiting outside of your apartment building, he's not walking up all those stairs again. He was feeling cool. Calm. Collected. Until he saw you. His hands started getting clammy, his heat racing. You look so pretty. You of course found the prefect in-between of cute and sexy for your outfit. "Heeey, you could of made an effort." He joked. You frowned. You thought you did well. He clears his throat. "Let's go." He wiped his hands on his robe before taking flight with you following after.

You both arrived at the restaurant. Neither of you stop on the way. It was awkward. He walked in first, he didn't hold the door open for you. Rude. Once inside you noticed the restaurant was jam packed. Adam also noticed this and froze. "Good thing you booked, right?" You said, playfully, hoping to break some tension. "Uh... Yeah... Wait here, surgartits." He walked over to the host. "I need a table for two." The host scoffed. "Yeah, sure. We've got one available tomorrow." Adam was fuming. This was all going wrong. This can't go wrong. "Do you fucking know who I am?!" He raised his voice. "I'm fucking ADAM! I'm the fucking man! And I want a damn table!" You walk over. "Adam?" "What, bitch!? Fuck! Can't you see I'm busy?! I'm getting us a table!" He yelled at you. No. Nope. You're too good to be yelled at. This was meant to be fun. Fuck this. You put your hands in the air. "Nope. I'm out." You turn on your heels and exit the restaurant. "Wait- no, y/n." He looks as you exit then back at the host. "I'll ruin your fucking life, cunt." He hissed before flying out of the restaurant.

He looks around and you were no where to be seen. "Fast fucker. AUGH!!!" He stomped his foot covering his face with his hands. If he wasn't wearing his mask he'd be pulling his hair.

You got yourself home. Fucking shit day. Dumb idea. You don't even know why he asked you. The whole thing was dumb. Everything about it was dumb. You collapse onto the couch, sulking. It doesn't take long before there's a knock at the door. Adam you suspect. You roll your eyes before peeling yourself off the couch. Opening the door you see Lute. Huh. "Uh.. hi?" "Adam requests your presents. Put on this blind fold." She hands you a blindfold. "What?" She didn't repeat herself. She never does. You groan, knowing she won't leave until you do it so whatever. You put the blindfold on and lute takes your wrist and flies off with you ragdolling.

Once your feet touch the ground she lets go of your wrist. Leaving you there blindfolded. "Uh.. you can take that off now." You do, to see a candle lit picnic layed out. It was adorable, there were fairy lights on the trees. Adam stood there, awkwardly, with a bunch of your favourite flowers. How did he know? Lute. "Uh. Surprise.." he handed you the flowers. "Sorry, about the restaurant. Fucking idiots double booked or something.. I don't know." He shrugged. You know it wasn't true. He didn't book, you know that. But you smiled. "Thank you, Adam. This is much nicer." He smiled and stretched. "Well, what can I say? I know what I'm doing."

You sat on the blanket, Adam did also and popped open a bottle of champagne. "I got the good stuff." You smile at the gesture although you always thought champagne tasted disgusting. He got all the good stuff, strawberries and chocolates. Cheese board. Cute little cakes. "This is all very well thought out. How did you get this so quickly?" You asked. He shrugged with a smirk. "I'm just that good, babe." Lute. This was more his style anyway. Outside, under the stars. It reminded him of the Garden.

"so, this was fun." He rubbed the palm of his hands on his knees. "I'd much rather not do this Valentine's bullshit though. Maybe next time we can just... Do it whenever?" "I'd like that. Although, this Valentine's day has turned out pretty perfect." You smile. "Well. I am perfect so." He smirks at you. You don't want to stroke his ego anymore than you already have. You roll your eyes before quickly giving him a peck on the lips. "you're alright, I suppose." You took his sweaty hand in yours and led down, he followed. You both watched the stars in silence. He'd gently squeeze your hand every now and then, you'd squeeze back.

"Happy valentine's, Y/N."

"Happy valentine's, Adam."

[anjuschiffer]

Of Forgotten Memories and A Beloved Mother

...So this was only suppose to me a oneshot but has turned into a short mulitchapter fic... enjoy!

-

Chapter 2: Dami's Whale

PREV | AO3

They had warned him several times to never lower his guard. Never. 

To never underestimate his opponents. 

And yet he did, causing this current dilemma.

“Give it back!” Damian yelled, running after a howling Jason, Damian chasing him with a Nerf gun in his hand. 

“I’m so glad it’s only a Nerf gun in your hand!”

“You’re lucky Dad doesn’t- Dad!” Damian yelled upon seeing their father enter the foyer, scowling at the fact that he just missed a shot. “Dad! Jason won’t give me back my sketchbook!”

“Jason.” Bruce tried to say sternly but failed when a smile escaped him. He had come back from work, Alfred walking off with his coat in hand and wasn’t expecting to hear Damian call him Dad shortly after entering the manor. After all, he was always calling him Father up until a few weeks ago. “Give Damian back his sketchbook.”

“I say you look at it. You should really be getting him better materials for his drawings instead of whatever office supplies you keep getting him.” Jason suggested as he gave back Damian his sketchbook. “Like seriously, whatever you’re getting him keeps drying up the day he opens it.

So I asked an artist buddy of mine to give me some suggestions.” Both stifled a smile when Damian’s scowl softened upon hearing the words ‘art store.’ “He highly suggested Holbein gouache or Winstor and Newton acrylics for someone who paints.” Jason said with an innocent smile.

The boys watched as Bruce gave it some thought.

“I’ll ask Alfred to look into it and we’ll take Damian to pick out whatever he wants.” 

“We’re going to an art store?” Damian asked with a twinkle in his eye. “Can I get whatever I want?”

“He’d buy the whole store while you’re at it.” Jason instigated, watching Damian stare at his sketchbook.

“Dad, we have to go. Now.” Damian practically begged, lifting his sketchbook to his father’s face. “I’ve been meaning to turn more of my sketches into portraits to put around the manor.” 

“Excellent idea, Master Damian.” Alfred spoke, returning from the coat room. “The manor can surely use a more modern touch to its decor. Your paintings will add a nice touch of color to this dreary place.”

“Alfred.” Bruce tried to admonish but was met with an unfazed look from the man.

“I’ll make sure to leave a list of some nearby art stores on your desk. If you’ll excuse me, I have dinner to prepare.”

-

Calls. Bruce forgot how much he hated them. But this one was an exception.

Bruce was already halfway through settling the conditions he had set down for the art store he had planned to take Damian that weekend when the boy himself hung up the call.

Bruce watched as Damian lifted his finger from the switch hook, his eyes not once looking away from Bruce’s. Bruce listened as the dial tone droned in his ear.

“Damian. I was in the middle of finalizing the trip to the-”

“I know.”

“So why-”

“Can’t we just enter like any other customer?”

“But you’re not any other-”

“Can’t we just go? I don’t care if people see us go in just like that. You’re my dad and- people should accept the fact that you’re my dad. And just like any other dad, you’re spending quality time with his kid- me. Is that too much?”

And with that mini speech, Bruce agreed to just walking into the art store that weekend, doing his best to ignore the glances he and his son would get every now and then. 

Bruce had his share of following people around a store and trying to understand their enthusiasm regarding products. He would smile and give them nods of approval and sweet words of encouragement as they would ask him questions about items he could care less about. 

But unlike the various times he had to follow a woman around a jewelry store, Bruce found himself intrigued and actually invested in the conversation between Damian and the store employee who greeted them upon their arrival.

It didn’t take long for Bruce to completely ignore the stares and whispers that surrounded the two.

Heck, he was too busy absorbing every piece of information the store employee gave them, he didn‘t realize they had already been in the store for two whole hours.

He listened as the employee would ask Damian what media he was looking for and what type of project he was working on. 

They discussed different types of media, the types of paint and texture each variety would give him. How oil paint would give him the texture he wanted in this project but if he was on a short deadline, it would not be recommended to use.

Damian would then go on a lengthy discussion on how he didn’t have a deadline and would much rather use oil paint opposed to acrylic due to the tones he needed for this piece, considering he needed a paint that had a longer drying time frame. He also had to consider that he wasn’t set on all the colors of his painting and had found mixing oil paints was easier for him compared to acrylic paint. 

Bruce couldn’t forget the face the employee made upon hearing that.

Wrapping up the media choice, they moved on to canvases, something called gesso, as well as thinning and thickening agents for the paints. They then spent another hour at the brush aisle, Damian carefully selecting at least 20 different brushes before they made their way to the register to pay. 

Luckily there was no one in line and the employee who had helped them already placed most of their items into several canvas bags. Paints, carefully wrapped brushes, bottles of unrecalled liquids, palettes and containers peaked from them. When Bruce was told the whopping total of 700 and something he had to pay, Bruce just handed over his card. 

‘Pocket change,’ was all Bruce could think of when he heard the price.

As they waited for the employee to finish the transaction, Bruce realized it was already three in the afternoon. He turned to Damian to ask him what he wanted to do afterwards.

Maybe he was hungry. They had skipped lunch after all.

“Damian, what do you think about going to- Damian?” Bruce called out when he realized Damian wasn’t by his side, feeling a pit in his stomach. 

He was starting to notice the edges of his vision fuzz as he scanned the area near the counter. 

Empty, save for a single person who just realized Bruce was standing right in front of them.

“Damian?” He called out again, apologizing to the staff and letting them know he was coming back as he found himself picking up a jog as he searched the store for his son. 

“Damian.” But no response. “Damian.”

“Damian!” His chest felt heavier with each aisle he found void of his kid, his eyes darting all around as he passed by yet another aisle with no Damian in sight. 

“Damian!” He called out once again, when he came to a halt when his eyes caught sight of Damian standing near a gallery tucked in the back of the store. “Damian!” Bruce scolded as he turned the boy around to face him. “What are you-”

“She made that.” Damian cut him off, turning back to look at the wall behind him, Bruce only then realizing that the gallery was a collection of paintings. With a quick glance, he realized it was a collection of paintings put together by participants from one of the store’s events. 

A Mother’s Memories.

Each painting that hung on the wall portrayed one of the many memories that a mother who participated in the event cherished. 

Some mothers had painted their kids at a park, a family outing, visiting a farm or aquarium. Family time at home. Holidays. Birthdays.

Every painting had a child painted on the canvas, the children usually smiling back, except one.

There, on the upper most corner to the right, on a canvas no bigger than a sheet of paper was a painting of what appeared to be a bathtub filled halfway with water. A fluffy baby blue towel hung on its side, bubbles floating on the surface of the water. And there, right in the center was a lone blue whale. 

The tiny baby toy smiled right at them, as if having been waiting for them all this time.

Bruce looked back at Damian, noticing his son stuck in a trance. “She made that.” He said again, but louder this time around.

“She? Who are you referring to?” Bruce dared to ask.

“Momma did.” Damian easily answered, Bruce hearing his breath hitch. There was that name again.

Momma.

Ever since Dick told him about the day he found Damian talking about a person named Momma, he tried his best to coax an answer from Damian himself. But every time he tried to, all Damian could remember from her was the color of her eyes and her voice. 

“Talia?” Bruce asked, hoping it would jog up his memory a bit. 

Maybe this time, Damian could recover some information on the woman he once called ‘Momma.’

“No, Momma.” Damian clarified, his brows furrowed. “Mother never delved into the arts the way Momma did. She’s the one who taught me how to draw.”

“How did you figure out she was the one who made it?”

“The whale.” Damian pointed out, letting out a ‘tt’ when Bruce only stared back at him. “Momma made me that whale with her magic. There’s no other whale like that anywhere in the world.”

Bruce looked back at the whale, wondering how that exact whale didn’t look like any other baby toy on the market. “Momma even made sure to flawlessly replicate the Guardian’s Emblem at the top of the whale’s head.”

Guardian’s emblem? What was a Guardian?

“Emblem?”

“Don’t you see it?” Damian asked. “It’s right there.” Damian tried to point, but the longer Bruce stared at the whale, he couldn’t see what Damian was able to. “Dad, it’s-”

“Oh, I see you’ve taken a liking to one of my favorite pieces.” A voice spoke up, Bruce and Damian turning to see an old lady with a red ladybug cardigan. Her gray hair was short, two strands framed her wrinkly face, the curl ends reminding Damian on bug antennae. “Such a heartbreaking story that one has.” She said, tutting as she remembered the tale.  

“Heartbreaking?” Bruce asked. “Did something happen to the artist behind, um.”

“Dami’s Whale. That’s the piece’s name.

When I asked Marie why she chose to draw this piece, she told me that bath time was her baby’s favorite activity of the day.” The lady smiled when she saw Damian quickly look back at the painting.  “She told me she would do anything in the world to go back to those times, saying his squeals and laughter were all she needed to get through that part of her life.

When I asked her what she meant by that, she told me one thing.”

“What did she say?” Damian asked, returning his attention to the old lady. “What happened to her? To her baby?”

“They took him away from her.” The lady softly said, frowning. “She only loved him the way she was meant to love him. And they took her away from him.”

“They got separated?” Bruce tried to understand what the owner was trying to say.

“That I would not know. Shortly after finishing the piece, Marie suddenly got a heart attack and was rushed to the hospital.”

“The hospital?” Damian asked, his voice warbling. “Is she okay? Where can I find-“

“You seem to be familiar with Marie, young one.” The lady looked at Damian and then at Bruce. “Do the two of you know-”

“He has been searching for other family members ever since he recovered some of his memories from his childhood.” Bruce provided. “He used to live with his mother as an infant but then lived with his grandfather when his mother couldn’t provide for him anymore.” 

“Oh dear.”

“He was brought to me by social services once he passed away as I’m a family friend and someone his grandfather trusted” Bruce struggled to say as he half-lied to the owner. “Since then, Damian has been searching for his only other living relative.

Somehow, this painting of Marie’s seems to be a clue to finding his mother.”

“I see.” The old lady softly said, patting Damian’s head. “You must’ve really loved your mother, didn’t you, little one?”

“I had a whale like that as a kid.” Damian spoke to divert himself from the commentary of being seen as a child. “I want to ask Marie some questions regarding it…if she can.”

The old lady hummed  

“Marie did tell me only a few people would be able to tell that the whale would attract some attention.”

“A few?”

“She told me to be wary of those who ask about her upon seeing that painting. But, she did tell me to do one thing if a young boy were to ever ask about her location.” 

The lady took an envelope out of her pocket and handed it over to Damian, an oddly designed wax stamp sealed on it. “Do you recognize this?”

“It is a Guardian's Emblem.” Damian answered in a whisper. “It looks just like the one on-“ he looked up to tell the old lady it looked like the one on the whale only to find her gone. 

“Where did she go?” Bruce asked, wondering what the hell happened. 

Weren’t they just in front of a gallery? 

How did they manage to be standing outside the store with bags of art supplies in hand?

Bruce turned to Damian who still held the envelope in his hands. 

Damian ran his finger over the wax stamp before deciding to open it, finding a photo of the same exact painting that was inside the store. Only, this time, he was also in the photo. 

Or rather, his baby self was in the photo. 

He looked so small. So fat. 

He turned it over, feeling a weight lift off his shoulder. 

You’ll find her at Gotham General Hospital. Best of luck, Damian. 

-Tikki

NEXT

[hina-has-no-life]

Dark Era: Dazai and Akutagawa

The Scene in Dark Era where Dazai shoots Akutagawa was abusive and messed up, but sadly justified on Dazai's end.

Now this may sound harsh but let's take a step back from the emotions the scene causes and look at it purely logical and analytical. (No I am not excusing the abuse Akutagawa went through. Dazai had no right to abuse him but this scene is more than abuse.)

What happens in this scene?

Per Dazai's orders as an Executive within the Port Mafia agents from Mimic were captured to be taken to Kouyou for interrogation, as is her department. Akutagawa then kills the hostages in retaliation for the casualties the Mafia suffered at the hands of Mimic. Dazai proceeds to punch and shoot Akutagawa.

In essence this is what happened: Akutagawa disregarded direct orders of his executive in front of multiple people and said executive. Plain and simple, this is insubordination.

We know, due to Stormbringer, that insubordination of the Boss and his executives (who essentially work as extensions of the Boss within the BSD Mafia) is a death sentence. It's at the same level as betrayal.

So, while messed up and abusive, Dazai's reaction can be classified as a mercy. Had it been another executive or Mori, Akutagawa would be dead. And no, you can not use that Chuuya cares for Akutagawa as an argument against Akutagawa dying here were it Chuuya. Chuuya's loyality is to the Mafia and Mori in a situation like this. We saw this at the end of the Guild Arc when Chuuya asked Mori what punishment Akutagawa should face for disregarding Mafia orders and going on to the Moby Dick. Since the moment in Dark Era is a similar case, it is safe to assume Chuuya would have asked Mori for the punishment and then delivered it.

Now here comes the much more interesting part about this scene I sadly do not see talked about. (If you find posts talking about it please send them my way!)

This scene shows us, in a very subtle way, how the dynamic between Akutagawa and Dazai works.

But how? Let's count it: - Akutagawa is very self assured in his insubordination. - Dazai gives him a chance to speak up about his reasoning, to defend himself and ask for forgiveness for his blatant insubordination. - Akutagawa in turn arrogantly doubles down on his decision. - Dazai punishes him.

While Dazai framed the moment at the end as a teaching moment with his comment about Akutagawas use of Rashomon, it is mostly a punishment. Yes there are 2 moments that can be seen as a teaching moment but what Dazai does is in fact nothing more than a punishment in his eyes.

(Giving Akutagawa the chance to think about his rash action was the first teaching moment btw)

Now the way the scene is handeled with it's framing tells us something interesting about the relationship between Dazai and Akutagawa.

Dazai actively favours Akutagawa with his treatment.

But how? It's a good question because the answer is very much hidden.

Both characters treat the situation as something usual. This in turn tells us that Akutagawa often commits insubordination against Dazai. And only Dazai, since Dazai takes him under his wing as his direct and only student. (This is made clear in the short where he actually recruits a younger Akutagawa) This means that Dazai does favour his student above other subordinates rather openly. We know he would not let this slide with other people under his command. The scene at the beginning of the Dark Era LN with Hirotsu shows this.

Akutagawa's reaction to being shot also tells us that this is the first time Dazai points a weapon at him. While not expecting, but accepting, the punch he did not expect to face a harsher punishment than this.

He is visibly surprised. But not just him.

In the Anime adaption (which is the best LN adaption in BSD) we see that even the other subordinates around them only become surprised when Dazai draws the gun and shoots Akutagawa.

Did Dazai think Akutagawa would survive being shot at? 100% yes. He even says as much after the fact.

(This is actually what makes teaching moment number 2, since he remarks that Akutagawa "finally" managed to protect himself with Rashomon. This tells us that they were actively training this and Akutagawa was failing at it for some time already.)

In short: - Akutagawa feels very much secure in his position at Dazai's side, despite the regular abuse. - Dazai favours Akutagawa openly enough within the PM that other subordinates are surprised when Akutagawa faces an openly harsh punishment. - Akutagawa, in committing insubordination, regulary disrespects Dazai as his superior and Dazai let's it slide. This is something that mirrors the relationship between Dazai and Mori, as Dazai does disrespect Mori in private and Mori let's this slide. (The biggest difference in this relationship mirror is that Dazai never disrespects Mori in front of other people.)

In my eyes (and I hope we learn more soon) this also shows that Dazai's abuse of Akutagawa has multiple reasons. - Dazai sees himself in Akutagawa. Dazai also hates himself and blames himself for shortcomings so he projects this onto Akutagawa, who he then abuses because of it. - A warped sense of care. In his own, very fucked up, way Dazai does care for Akutagawa. Is he good at showing it? Absolutely not. He wants Akutagawa to be stronger than Dazai himself is, he wants him to be better. So he favors him but also abuses him. - He favors Akutagawa so Akutagawa needs to get strong extremely fast to avoid a conflict within the ranks of the Mafia. - Dazai tries to get Akutagawa as strong as possible as fast as possible since Akutagawa effectively went from joining to third highest rank in 10 seconds and needs to prove himself in front of everyone else, not just Dazai's eyes. In this he ends up abusing Dazai because he himself is a child with a very limited understanding of teaching. What he does know, through Mori as his teacher, is that cruelty and abuse are effective teaching methods that work faster than proving patience and taking things slow.

(am I saying that Mori physically abused Dazai? No. But he, as shown in Beast and Fifteen, honestly answers to the questions his students ask him. It is entirely possible that he simply told Dazai different teaching methods and Dazai decided on the fastest one instead of the best and most effective.)

and thank you @sorcerersandskillusers for sending me the LN parts I mentioned above!! I didn't have the energy to look them up when I initially posted this and he did me the favor of getting them for me!

To summarize: The scene is a punishment for direct insubordination and shows us, the viewer, a deeper look into the relationship between Akutagawa and Dazai.

[sunlightmurdock]

You just put apocalypse dbf!jake in my head and now I won’t be able to think of anything else for foreseeable future.

It’s not a want but a need

okokokok so!! in a situation where dbf!jake is still exactly that, he’s just your dad’s best friend when this shit all starts. He’s the first person you run to when the news starts advising everyone to go home and stay there, since your parents are away.

Jake knows better. He always knows what to do. You made the right choice in going to him. He’s calm and collected, telling you to pack light and don’t open your front door until he comes to get you. Even when you’re panicking about being able to ever find your parents again, Jake is taking your face in his hands and drawing you in close, swearing to you that he’ll get you back to them if you just trust him.

And so you do. He puts you in his truck and loads the bed with a few light supplies. You make it out of the city early on the first afternoon, and drive out to your dad’s little cabin in the mountains — it’s safer to hole up out here than in the city, Jake says. The communications don’t go down right away. They go down at 3am, while Jake is sitting awake on the couch with one hand on his gun, you sleeping in the bedroom behind him. All of the news and radio stations at once, just static.

Of course, this makes things feel all the more dire, but he can’t keep it from you. The first day is the worst. Being so far from everyone is a good thing, Jake says, but it doesn’t make you feel any better. You can see him bristle at the sound of every car on the road a couple of miles away. Sound carries up here.

The whole ‘sleeping in shifts’ thing doesn’t quite work when Jake won’t sleep, either. Not when you can’t protect yourself. He sleeps in maybe forty minute intervals, if he’s lucky. He spends almost all of the first three days awake, watching over you, watching the supplies he brought start to dissipate.

There’s a lake that’s fishable, and a stream with water that you can boil. Jake doesn’t let you out of his sight, but he does teach you how to fish.

Your first encounter with one of the infected comes after maybe a week up there, some hitchhiker who had died on the highway and wandered through the woods. Miles out of the way, neither one of you were expecting to be found quite so quickly. It happens when Jake is storing the boat and you’re walking off ahead of him, hauling your bounty back towards the cabin.

Jake hears your scream and his heart drops. He races up the makeshift path to find you on your ass, scrambling backwards as the torn up thing claws at your boots. He kills it in front of you and puts you on your feet again. You’re in shock, really. It’s the first one you’ve seen up close — you almost died — this is all so real.

Back at the cabin, Jake holds you while you cry until you fall asleep in his arms. He lies awake with the realisation that he cares for you in a far deeper way than he should. When he thought he lost you earlier… it wasn’t just because he feared losing his friend’s daughter.

In that moment, he knows he’ll do anything to get you through this, no matter what that takes.