#there was no reason he just attacked her????

[strwberri-milk]

Could you do one for Caleb, Sylus and Zayne, where they're S/O (who doesn't live with them) calls them during a really late work meeting or something, clearly distressed and shaken, because of something that happened (wanderer attack/almost getting mugged/or whatever else) and ran to their apartment cause it felt safer, not realising that her man isn't home atm, that she wouldn't be able to go in (since she either forgot or doesn't have a key).

Caleb definitely has some sort of remote mechanism to lock/unlock his house. He'd pick up your call the second he gets it - the only reason why he'd miss it is if he didn't see the message but he's calling and texting back the second he notices you've called. If you've left a message he'll immediately go to look at the cameras at his home, unlocking the door remotely and texting you to go inside. If you're on the phone with him he'll unlock his doors as he's talking to you, then tell you to go inside and wait for him in his room. He wants you to be curled up in his plush sheets, heading home as soon as you're calling for him. He doesn't say much as he wraps his arms around you, holding you tightly as you cry and sob into his arms.

Even if Sylus isn't home, if the twins are they'll let you in no questions asked. They'd also alert Sylus even if you already have, knowing that there's only so much they can do to distract you before you're missing him again. If nobody's home then he's also got a remote way to unlock his house and was probably alerted the second you set foot on his property. You don't get a chance to call before you hear his voice coming from a speaker somewhere nearby, telling you to go inside and he'll be home as soon as he can to see you.

Zayne is unfortunately the only one who doesn't have a remote lock. He sees your call and would tell you to either go home and he'll come to you as soon as he's done, or come to the hospital and sit in his office until he can go home with you. He wants to be there for you, but he also is at the mercy of his patients. He'll try to get to your side as soon as he can, but you might have to wait a bit unfortunately. After this incident though he'll make sure to give you a key to his place, just in case something similar happens in the future, reassuring you that you're always welcome in his home.

[karlmarxmaybe]

"Sanders portrays himself as a socialist, but instead is actually just another capitalist politician. His entire voting record shows this as does his opposition to deep seated principles of the socialist movement, like the need to expropriate the capitalist class and establish a planned socialist economy. Bernie Sanders is also in favor of U.S. imperialism. He has supported every U.S. war including Bill Clinton’s war on Yugoslavia and Israel’s war on Gaza, as well as the U.S. wars on Libya, Syria, Afghanistan, Yemen, and Iraq. Sanders voted for the 2014 senate resolution that backed the Israeli massacre of thousands of civilians in Gaza. He supported the Bill Clinton / UN starvation blockade that murdered over 1.5 million Iraqis, most of them children. While he voted for the Bush invasion of Afghanistan, he voted against the Bush invasion of Iraq. Yet, he continuously voted for the military budget during that war and was opposed to demands for an immediate withdrawal from Iraq. He supported the Vermont National Guard’s development of a center for unmanned drone warfare and was outspoken in his desire to have F-35 fighters built in his state.

Regarding immigration from Mexico and further south as U.S. imperialist exploitation and U.S. imposed regimes turn those countries into a living hell of poverty and violence, Sanders has repeatedly introduced legislation to revoke federal immigration visas to supposedly “protect American jobs”. Actual socialists see no difference between human beings based on what side of a border we were born on. We argue that U.S. workers would be far better off if immigrants had more rights and were better able to stand with the multi-racial working class for better pay, benefits, and rights. Sanders instead backs the racist treatment of immigrants, just as Trump does.

Regarding heroic whistle blower Edward Snowden who revealed a massive NSA spying campaign against the American people, Sanders says, “there is no debate that Mr. Snowden violated an oath and committed a crime.”

On other domestic questions, Sanders has been terrible as well. At an electoral rally, when anti-police brutality protesters joined him on stage, Bernie Sanders left instead of attempting any dialogue. There was a reason for this. Bernie Sanders has been a strong supporter of building up the American police state that guns down so many people in the streets. He supported Bill Clinton’s “Violent Crime Control and Law Enforcement Act,” which greatly expanded the U.S. government’s war on Black and poor people by putting 100,000 more cops on the street and increasing the use of the death penalty. His response to outrage in Baltimore against the police murdering an unarmed man in custody was saying, “Being a cop is a hard job”. The Black lives Matter Movement is right to protest Bernie Sanders.

In addition to Bernie Sanders’ other crimes, he voted in favor of a Senate resolution that demanded Cuba return political refugee Assata Shakur to the United States. [...]

In reality, Assata Shakur was not convicted by a “jury of her peers”, she was convicted by an all-white jury. Assata Shakur was a victim of America’s racist courts and the FBI’s COINTELPRO operations that targeted Black radicals for police murder and judicial frame-up. Police ambushed Assata Shakur and her comrades in 1973. In that attack, police crossfire struck and killed New Jersey State Trooper Werner Foerster, with a bullet from a police revolver killing the cop. James Harper, the slain trooper’s partner has admitted that he lied about seeing a gun in Assata Shakur’s hand. Assata Shakur was supposedly being apprehended for 7 counts, including a bank robbery. She was later acquitted for all of these counts and a jury even decided that the picture the FBI had widely circulated, supposedly showing her during a bank robbery, wasn’t even a picture of her. She and her comrade Sundiata Acoli were, however, wrongly convicted in the death of Werner Foerster.

Before going to trial, Assata Shakur was badly tortured as were other Black Panthers in custody like Ruben Scott who confessed after being tortured. Assata Shakur did not confess to a crime she did not commit.

[...]

The torture and murder of political dissidents by the U.S. government did not begin with Bagram, Abu Ghraib and Guantánamo, it was used against the Black Panther Party as well as directly by the U.S. government in places like Vietnam. For instance, before Guantanamo and the Panthers, there were the tiger cages of Côn Sơn Island where U.S. forces and the South Vietnamese puppet government tortured prisoners and murdered 20,000 people. The victims were largely leftists and suspected leftists who opposed the U.S. imposed dictatorship of southern Vietnam. Similarly, the CIA’s torture and assassination under the Phoenix Program in southern Vietnam targeted Communists and suspected Communist supporters. Few prisoners survived their interrogations. The U.S. State Department admits to directly killing 20,000 people under this program and another 20,000 people were murdered by it when the program was turned over to the South Vietnamese dictatorship.

[...]

The joining of Bernie Sanders in the racist and murderous campaign that destroyed the Black Panther Party designates him, like the rest of his ilk in the Democrat and Republican parties, an enemy of the working class.

Today, besides the jailing of great revolutionaries like Mumia Abu Jamal, the exile of Assata Shakur, and the murder of others like Fred Hampton, we can still to a large degree legally build the revolutionary party and play a role in the struggle for fighting unions of the multi-racial working class. We must take advantage of this window opportunity while we still can. It is hard to say exactly when that window will close, but it is the present march of the bourgeoisie to more and more violate democratic norms as they drive down the standard of living of the working class, destroy unions, and nastily oppress journalists like Julian Assange and heroic whistle blowers like Edward Snowden and Chelsea [...] Manning. Even the Occupy movement, which was for the most part another failed attempt at pressure politics rather than a fight for power, faced police repression that to a large degree crushed that movement. The ruling capitalist class fears any sort of working class mobilization as belts tighten, police abuses get worse, global warming worsens, and the new Jim Crow creates huge abused layers of the working class who are denied decent jobs based largely on irrelevant and largely unjust criminal background records. Nothing good will come of this election cycle. The most important thing we can do is build a revolutionary party today that is prepared to lead the working class upsurges and revolutionary struggles that are coming.

The left and working class in general has much to lose by backing Bernie Sanders. This includes the following:

Our good name by backing a scoundrel faux socialist, war monger, and supporter of America's brutal police.

Time, energy, and money that would be better spent building up the strength of our movements and strike coffers.

Time and energy that would be better spent building an actual revolutionary socialist party in opposition to the ruling capitalist parties. Nothing will change in this election cycle, so we must have a long term goal of building the kind of revolutionary party that can intervene in the streets, unions, and elections to bring change in the long term."

-Steven Argue of the Revolutionary Party, 2015 (emphasis mine) (read the whole article, it is quite relevant to today's US politics).

Sorry that’s the last straw we’re putting demsoc grandpa down

[vettelsvee]

Hi, I love your writing, idk if your requests are open so I will send a request anyway, but no pressure to do it ofc. I have a request: could you maybe write something like reader is the passenger princess and like even though she has a drivers lincense (or not) he won’t let her drive or give up her seat as passenger princess, or just being overly overprotective, of course only if your comfortable and want to write this. I would like Max Verstappen/Charles Leclere/Oscar Piastri (but it’s your choice Ofc, write with whom your comfortable or want). No pressure to write it it’s just a thought.

Thanks xoxo

-🐨

THE PASSENGER PRINCESS CHRONICLES

⋆ INCLUDES: Oscar Piastri, Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc ⋆ SUMMARY: Different situations on why they don't let you be their passenger princess even you insist them on giving you a chance! ↳ REQUESTED: Yes! Hope you like it anon, couldn't choose one! 🐨💖 ⋆ WARNINGS: Curse words, dangers on the road ⋆ WORD COUNT: 2726 ⋆ VEE'S NOTES: Today’s fic draft got deleted and I panicked BUT wrote this instead for anon 🥰 This is my first time ever doing this thing of x drivers in different situations and I really liked it, so tell me if you liked it so I get to do more in the future! Remember you can comment, request, like and reblog if you like my works! Thanks for reading <3 ↳ LET'S TALK/REQUESTS! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST

₊˚・₊✧ OSCAR PIASTRI

"Could you buckle up properly, please?"

Oscar kept glancing between the road and you, clearly trying to get your attention because it was more than obvious you hadn’t listened to him. Playing innocent, you turned to him with an even more serious face than his, as if you hadn’t done anything wrong.

"You’ve got it under your arm,” he spoke again. “This isn’t a teen movie, you know… The way you’re wearing it doesn’t count."

"But I look cute tho," you replied, widening your smile, fully aware that was one of his weaknesses.

Oscar sighed, though he couldn’t help chuckling.

"I swear, one of these days you're going to give me a heart attack..."

"Nothing's going to happen. You’re a Formula 1 driver. I’m pretty sure that gives you more adrenaline than me not wearing a seatbelt properly."

"And I’m pretty sure the heart attack will come the day you get launched through the windshield because buckling up doesn’t go with your so-called aesthetic."

You let out a dramatic sigh. As much as you hated to admit it, he had a point, and the last thing you wanted was to argue with him over something like this. 

Once you finally clicked the seatbelt in correctly, he gave your knee a gentle squeeze.

"Happy now?"

"Yeah, normal," he replied in a teasing tone. "Though I’ll be truly happy the day you stop asking and begging me to let you drive."

You turned to him slowly. This conversation had come up more than once, and for a good reason. If one word described you behind the wheel, it was hazardous.

"You do remember I’ve had my license for four years, right?"

"Yes. And you also thought last week the gas pedal was the brake," Oscar shot back.

"It happened just once in four years! And only because you were stressing the hell out of me with the GPS!" you complained, swatting his arm.

"Another time you thought the car was in first gear, and it was reverse. Remember how my mom reacted when you broke her favorite flowerpot?"

You giggled, remembering Nicole’s reaction. She had every right to be mad, especially since she initially thought Oscar was responsible. But the moment you confessed it had been you, she softened and said it was fine. Even she offered to go buy a new one with you.

"Okay, fine, but… why do you always have to drive? I know I’m a mess, but you’re not perfect either! Half the time you’re barely awake!"

"Because I love you. That’s why," Oscar said immediately. You looked at him, knowing that wasn’t the whole story. "And because letting you drive is like handing a toddler a knife," he added.

"Excuse me?!"

Oscar took advantage of a red light to lean over and kiss your cheek quickly.

"Just being honest, princess."

You crossed your arms and pouted dramatically, playing along.

"Well, let me tell you something: if I had been a boy and started karting young, I could’ve been a driver too. And I’ll be challenging you, and probably be even better than you, and…"

"Babe, you can’t even park in parallel. Not to mention you always take forever to find a parking spot because you need every car in a five-meter radius to disappear."

"Parking in a full lot and parallel parking is overrated."

Oscar glanced at you, laughing again.

"What about the time you ran over your own shopping bag because you thought you were in first gear, but it was in reverse, again?"

"I didn’t notice, Osc!"

"Of course you didn’t. You left the bag on the roof, hit the garage door, it fell… and then you panicked, threw it in drive, and crushed it."

"Okay, okay! I know I’m a disaster," you admitted, finally accepting he wasn't going to let you drive. "But you still love me… even if I have no idea how I even passed my driving test, right?"

"You don’t even have to ask that. Of course I love you," Oscar said, his face softening with a small smile.

This time you leaned closer, planting a kiss near the corner of his lips as you laced your fingers with his on the gearstick.

"So… you really love me even if all I’ll ever be is a humble, helpless, incredibly stunning passenger princess?"

Oscar brought your hand to his lips and kissed the back of it.

"Especially because of that. I don’t know, call me old-fashioned… but I like having you here beside me. Safe, calm, even if I’m scolding you for not buckling up properly, or putting your feet on the dashboard, or leaving food crumbs all over the seat, or singing completely off-key..."

"Hey!"

"Yeah, yeah. I know. You're an absolute disaster… but you’re my perfect disaster. And I wouldn’t change a thing."

You melted, a lot, hearing that. Letting your head rest against the window, you finally decided to stop pestering Oscar for a while and just enjoy the music. He’d let you pick the playlist, of course, and right now, One Direction’s debut album was playing.

But staying quiet wasn’t really your style.

Three minutes in, right before Gotta Be You ended, you turned to him again.

"Osc…"

"Yeah?"

"Can I drive just a little bit? Just to the supermarket, I swear. So you can see I can actually do it."

"Nope."

"Not even to the end of the street?"

"You are banned from driving when I’m in the car," Oscar declared.

You huffed dramatically.

"Are you seriously not going to let me? Oscar Piastri, I might have to sue you…"

He raised an eyebrow.

"Why exactly?"

"Because you’re denying me the right to drive and relegating me to permanent passenger princess status. I should at least be allowed one drive per month! Passenger princess privileges, don’t you think?"

Oscar burst out laughing, wondering how you managed to always come up with the most ridiculous arguments and how you could be so persistent when you knew he’d never budge.

"Keep dreaming, sweetheart," he replied. "As long as we’re together, I’m driving."

"Don’t worry. Once we have kids, I’ll make sure they are on my side. They'll give you puppy eyes, and then you’ll have to let mommy drive."

₊˚・₊✧ MAX VERSTAPPEN

"Can I drive the rest of the way home?"

Max didn’t answer. Instead, he simply turned the volume of the music up a notch.

You frowned and reached over to switch off the radio.

“I’m being serious, Max. You’ve been driving all day.”

“I’m fine,” he replied curtly, though his tone was calm. His hands, however, were gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly.

“You always say that.”

Max glanced at you briefly, then returned his focus to the road.

“Because it’s true. I’m fine,” he repeated.

You smiled faintly, but the truth was, it stung a little.

Sure, you preferred Max behind the wheel. Who wouldn’t? But that didn’t mean you never wanted to drive.

“Max… you know I can drive. I’m actually really good at it.”

“I know.”

“Okay, so if you know that, then why… I don’t know… Why do you never let me drive?”

Silence. You couldn’t tell if he was thinking of an answer, an excuse, or just ignoring the question. Either way, you didn’t press him.

“I don’t like being in the passenger seat,” he said finally.

That didn’t surprise you. Not from Max, not when driving was quite literally his entire life, and one he happened to be exceptionally good at, with four world championships on his back. But what did surprise you was the honesty in his voice. He didn’t often open up, especially not when it came to cars and driving.

“Not even if it means you being my passenger prince?” you teased gently.

Still no answer. Seconds stretched into minutes.

“I’m not saying I want to take your car and joyride around town,” you said softly, careful not to upset him. “I just mean… today, I could drive us home. The same way you take care of us, I want to take care of you, too. But when I’m sitting here, doing nothing… I feel like a burden.”

Max’s jaw tightened. Your words caught him off guard.

“That’s not it,” he said.

“Then what it is?”

Again, silence. You watched his knuckles whiten on the wheel, and noticed the slight aggressiveness in his gear changes.

“When I’m driving,” he finally said, “I know what’s going to happen. I’m in control. I can anticipate anything and fix it if something goes wrong. But if I’m not the one driving…”

“You lose that control,” you finished for him.

He nodded.

“I get it. Really, I do,” you replied, sincerely. “This…” you gestured around the car, then at him, “This is your world. It's what you're best at. But that doesn’t mean you have to be on and focused on everything all the time. You don’t have to protect us constantly, Max. Sometimes… you need to let yourself be cared for, too.”

He looked at you, then shifted his gaze to the rearview mirror where Lily, your six-month-old daughter, was curled up in her car seat, fast asleep.

“You trust me with everything else,” you added gently. “Why not with this?”

Max glanced back at you again, this time fully turning his head as he slowed the car down to a crawl, barely going 15 km/h.

His eyes softened. Then he smiled, just a little.

“You don’t even break the speed limit. You’re… let’s just say a bit too cautious.”

“Excuse me for respecting traffic laws,” you said in mock offense a little too loudly, because Lily stirred and whimpered in her sleep. You winced. “That” you whispered, pointing back “is why I don’t speed.”

“Sorry, but it’s boring,” Max murmured. “And I don’t care that we’re parents.”

“Sure, sure,” you replied with a roll of your eyes. “I know you strictly follow speed limits with Lily in the car… but I also know you don’t when she’s not.”

Max chuckled under his breath. A few minutes later, he pulled into an empty parking lot and stopped the engine.

“Wait, are you seriously…?”

He nodded, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the door.

“Go on,” he said. “Switch seats before I change my mind.”

You squealed and quickly unbuckled, hopping out of the car and doing a little victory dance as you passed him, hugging him along the way.

“I’m so proud of you. This is real growth,” you teased, grinning.

You slid behind the wheel, half expecting him to join you in the passenger seat. But when you checked the mirror, you saw him settle into the back instead, next to Lily, now awake, and begin playing with her.

You couldn’t help but smile. And maybe tear up a little, trying your best to hold back tears.

Max was tense at first. His arms were wrapped protectively around Lily’s seat, and he flinched every time you braked a touch too hard or took a slightly sharper turn, even though, objectively, you were driving just fine.

“Relax,” you whispered, reaching your hand back and gently resting it on his leg. “Want me to go slower?”

He nodded. So you did.

And little by little, maybe for the first time in his life, Max let go of the wheel… and found peace in not being in control. Especially if it meant watching you smile and soaking in every quiet second with the little girl who’d just learned to hold his fingers in her tiny fists while smiling and babbling all the time.

₊˚・₊✧ CHARLES LECLERC

"You know what? I do have a driver’s license too, in case you forgot."

Charles didn’t even look at you when you said it, breaking the silence in a rather annoyed tone. Instead, he kept his eyes on the road and his hands firmly gripping the steering wheel.

"Yeah, I remember, don’t worry. The scratches you left on the car two weeks ago and the bill from the mechanic made it pretty clear," he replied sarcastically.

"That doesn’t count," you shot back, rolling your eyes. "That parking space was tiny."

"You parked in a spot meant for a Fiat, not a Ferrari."

He couldn't hold back his laughter after that.

You didn’t find the comment particularly funny, especially because you had felt guilty about the whole thing even though Charles insisted it wasn’t a big deal.

"Let me drive. Just once. I’m really bored."

"Bored? In a Ferrari? With me?"

He turned to you, completely baffled by your complaint, and burst out laughing.

"Yes," you said flatly. "Ever since you let me drive once, Charles, just once, and that happened, I’ve been banished to the passenger seat. I don’t get to do anything from here! So yes, trust me, I’m bored as fuck. Very."

"You want to drive this car? This exact one?"

"Of course I do!"

"Over my dead body, sweetheart."

You crossed your arms and let out a frustrated groan.

"You’re such a control freak."

"No, love, I’m a Formula 1 driver," he corrected you. "Keeping things under control is literally my job."

"You’re insufferable."

"And yet, here we are. Three years later and you still love me."

"I think at this point we just tolerate each other," you joked, still slightly bitter that he wouldn't let you drive.

"Right. That’s why you refuse to go back to your apartment to get clothes and keep stealing mine," he quipped. "How long have you been staying over mine? Five days? You said it was just for one night, if I remember correctly."

"Your place is cozy and bigger than mine. Also, may I remind you that you have Leo, who’s, by the way, way nicer, cuter and more pleasant than you."

While speaking, you started fiddling with the A/C controls, pushing buttons aimlessly in an attempt to make it colder. When Charles noticed, he fought the urge to panic and gently moved your hand away.

"Don’t touch anything," he said seriously.

"God, you really need to humble yourself. It’s just a car, not the Holy Grail," you snapped, genuinely annoyed by his reaction.

Who got that worked up over a car?

Suddenly, Charles pulled into a dead-end road that opened onto a scenic lookout. The view of the ocean was stunning, but that’s not what crossed your mind when he stopped.

"Wait… are you actually going to let me drive?!"

Charles turned off the engine and faced you. Then he smiled and said:

"No."

"Then why the hell did you bring me here?!"

"Because this is where I wanted to bring you all along," he admitted. "I found this spot the other day while driving and thought you’d love it. I know how much you like these type of views, so…"

You gave up.

Looking at Charles, you couldn’t help but throw yourself into his arms, covering his face in kisses, feeling a little more cheerful even if your frustration over the driving situation hadn’t quite faded.

You both sat in silence for a while, now sitting on the hood of the car, you snapping photos of the view, Charles taking photos of you.

"You know," he said after a moment, "you’re the only person I’d share this car with."

"Does that sharing include me driving it?"

"If you already know the answer, why do you ask me?"

You pouted, arms crossed. Charles laughed and wrapped his arms around you, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"But you are my passenger princess and trust me, that’s way better," he continued. "You get full control of playlists, unlimited talking privileges, and I even you have the opportunity of eating in the car whatever you want, whenever you want."

"That’s it? Seriously?"

"Also kisses at every red light or pedestrian crossing," he added, making you smile and blush. "And maybe… if I see you really trying…"

"You’ll let me drive?!" you interrupted, eyes lighting up.

"I was going to say I might rent you a car for a day… Does that count?"

You shook your head and gave his arm a playful smack. Then, grabbing him by the chin, you pulled him in for a kiss and made him look you in the eye.

[yasministration]

mina's criminal mind fic recs

for the second quarter of 2025 - some of these fics contain sensitive content, so please make sure to read the content warnings!!

reflection, part 2 - spencer reid, by @mggslover

In which Spencer sees himself in a suspect, making him willing to do anything to protect her.

cat’s out of the bag - spencer reid, by @laufeysvalentine

spencer reid x secret relationship!reader — in which members of the bau go out for dinner and see spencer with... a girl?

Heat lightning pt.1 // pt.2 - spencer reid, by @burymagdalene

When the team joins another behavioral analysis unit in an attempt to help them track down a serial killer attacking throughout Texas, Spencer finds himself drawn to the new profiler aiding in the investigation. Working alongside her, Spencer begins to feel a deeper connection, both professionally and personally as he yearns to know her more intimately.

two teas and a coffee - spencer reid, by @thelostmagicians

Spencer’s changed, but JJ hasn’t realized it or the aftermath of JJ’s confession and how it should’ve gone

Nine-Nine - spencer reid, by @matt-murdockk

Spencer Reid’s grip on sanity? Loose. (Y/n)’s patience? Tested. Jake Peralta? Accidentally in the middle of a romcom finale with no snacks. There’s banter, jealousy, a tasered vending machine, and one (1) emergency love confession.

wedding crashers - spencer reid, by @matt-murdockk

It's the most important day of their lives. Whose? That's a good question, the answer to which neither Spencer nor the good-natured stranger he runs into at the wedding knows.

in my dream, i’m fixing your clutch - spencer reid, by @notlongtolove

most nights, spencer wakes to the sound of your sniffles—unlike most nights, he doesn’t have to ask why. the reason is visceral, tangible—staining the sheets when the wound dressing wasn’t tight enough, seeping and pooling right between the both of you where an ocean of your guilt already lies.

darwinism - spencer reid, by @reidrum

the you that broke up with spencer to follow your dreams in london isn’t the same you that returns a year later

backshots - back pain… sorry - aaron hotchner, by @ssa-dado

It starts with a back massage, ends with your face in a pillow and Hotch scolding you mid-thrust for arching your back incorrectly. You’d argue, but it’s hard to speak when he’s fixing your posture with his [REDACTED]

let it happen - spencer reid, by @girllblogging777

spencer was always in control, until you. but when you walk away, he realises it might be too late to learn how to love you right.

aloe barbadensis - spencer reid, by @nereidprinc3ss

in which you and spencer reid just want to lay around in your room after a day at the beach. the team does not respect your privacy.

conflict of interest - aaron hotchner, by @hoe4hotchner

jealous - spencer reid, by @gf2bellamy

puzzling - spencer reid, by @pathologicalreid

work wife - aaron hotchner, by @applereid

[elizabethemerald]

Tim did not like grocery stores. He knew it showed his privilege and Jason never let him forget that he had grown up with the silver spoon, but he still didn’t like them. When he was a kid his parents always had groceries delivered and for the most part Alfred did the same. Tim certainly only ordered his own groceries, but sometimes he still had to go to one himself.

Part of the reason he hated shopping so much was because of the attention he always attracted. When he dressed up he got recognized as Tim Drake-Wayne and was mobbed by either paparazzi trying to get a quick scoop or actual mobsters looking to kidnap him and get a ransom. When he dressed down every store clerk seemed to assume he was there to steal. Dick said it was because his Bat-paranoia that had him constantly on the lookout for threats came across as someone up to no good, afraid of getting caught. 

He idly watched a younger teen from the corner of his eye. The scruffy looking teen picked up one of the jars off the shelf and carefully read it then put it back. Jason and Cass had both talked about how that was a way to push off attention if you weren’t planning on buying anything and just needed somewhere out of the weather. More power to him, honestly, the stormfront that had burst was looking to last another week. 

Tim moved into a different aisle so the kid didn’t get caught up in the usual negative attention that plagued him when he was out in public. He finally found the energy drinks and was staring at them trying to decide if he wanted to try and sneak them past Alfred to store them in the manor where he would need them the most frequently or if it was safer to hide them in his nest when said negative attention landed in the form of a screeching Karen.

He pulled off one ear of his headphones so he could at least pretend to listen to whatever she was howling about. God damn, he had fought actual supervillians with less damaging sonic attacks than this woman. It took him a second to realize she had dragged over the other teenager and was ruthlessly shaking him by the arm. 

"You need to keep a better track of your little brother! I caught him trying to steal while you were over here looking at your phone!" She screeched. 

Tim made eye contact with the kid and all his Bat-training roared to life as he took in numerous details in a glance. The kid’s unwashed hair (black), his wide, scared eyes (blue) with almost racoon-dark rings under his eyes, his pale skin with visible bruises and cuts. Tim couldn’t tell definitively if this kid was related or not, but the very fact that he looked close enough to pass at the Wayne Manor dinner, made him pay attention. Even disregarding the fact that both Jack and Janet Drake could have cheated on each other and would absolutely hide the fact if a bastard came of it, there was always clones as a possibility. 

"Yes," Tim reached out and pulled the kid out of the woman's grasp; tucking him into his side, "I'll make sure to do that thank you."

He could see her taking a breath to start up another tirade, but quite frankly, Tim did not have the patience for it and he could feel this kid shivering against him. So he turned the pair of them, keeping the kid pressed against his side, and speed walked away. Once they were out of sight, Tim spun so he could face this kid.

“Hey man, thanks for the save, I’m so sorry you had to get dragged into that.” The kid said, practically ready to apologize for his entire existence right there.  

“Don’t worry about it, I could get you away from her so I did. It’s no problem. My name’s Tim, what’s yours?”

“Uh, Danny.” 

Tim visually checked the newly named Danny over, he could see a few signs of hidden or older injuries on top of the bruises and exhaustion. And god damn did they look like brothers. Though to be fair, Tim certainly wasn't related to Dick or Jason and he looked pretty similar to them in the right lighting. He could tell that Danny was growing uncomfortable with the inspection. 

“You've still got your backpack? Good. Let's finish our shopping and get out of here before anyone else throws a fit.”

Danny blanched, his eyes darting around. Tim smiled and used a card trick Dick had taught him to show his credit card. 

“Don't worry little brother! I've got dad's card so get what you want.”

Danny looked nervous but followed along while Tim led him through the store. Tim started filling his basket with no prep needed foods and some other basics. Bruce had done a lot of research when he first took up the mantle on what best met the needs of the city's unhoused population. Jason had almost completely rewritten the list during his time at Robin.  Tim shopped efficiently, knowing he didn't have long before Danny's fragile trust ran out. 

“You don’t actually have to buy me things you know.” Danny whispered. 

“Well she thinks you’re my brother, so I have to show that I’m a good one. Family obligations and all that.” 

“I guess I understand that.” He sounded sad, and there was a weight to his words that worried Tim. 

“What brings you to Gotham?” Tim asked as he picked out a small first aid kit. 

“Is it that obvious I'm not from around here? Is it the accent?” 

“Yeah partially, but also most Gotham kids would have pulled a knife if someone tried to manhandle them like that.”

“Oh.” Danny looked confused for a moment before shaking his head. “I'm here looking for someone. They’re supposed to live here in Gotham. I’m hoping I can stay with them for a little bit. ” 

“Are you sure you’re not looking for me? If you’re looking for a sibling, we already look alike.” 

Danny gave him a look, before focusing on the shelves around them. 

“I don’t think so, well, unless…” Danny gave him another look, a hint of color rising in his cheeks. “Unless you, you know, changed, since you were born. I’m looking for my sister.”

“Oh, nah. If I was going to transition I’d be more likely to go the other way.” Tim said with a laugh, though Danny looked even more concerned. 

“You can do that if you want to, you know!” He seemed desperate for Tim to understand, which was both a little touching and a little heartbreaking. 

“Yeah I could, but family obligations again.” 

Danny fell silent and looked upset, but like he didn't have the words to say to help as they finished their shopping, still under the watchful gaze of the shrieking wretch, who had at least fallen silent and stayed far enough back that she couldn’t hear their quiet conversation. 

They checked out with a cashier who clearly wasn't paid enough to pay them any mind. Tim took advantage of packing Danny's backpack with what he had purchased to hide a number of $20 bills among the purchases. No doubt Danny wouldn't trust the offer if Tim just handed him the money outright, but this way he could make sure the kid was taken care of. 

The two boys walked out of the store and stood under the awning to look at the rain still pouring down outside. He reached over and playfully mussed Danny's hair. Danny batted his hand away in annoyance, but not before Tim managed to place a tracker on his hoodie and snag a stray hair. If there was even a chance that this was related, Tim would do everything to make sure he was safe. 

“Alight. See you around Danny, stay safe.” Tim said. 

Danny gave him a nod and one last look of confusion before turning away. Tim left to head to his car and was ready to drive to the cave to test the sample when an alert from his watch grabbed his attention. He pulled a comm device from the watch and slipped it into his ear. 

“Red Robin online.” He said. 

“Arkham breakout, Red.” The heavily modulated voice of Oracle reported. “We need all hands on deck.” 

“Copy that. I’m a few minutes away from the closest safe house to suit up.” 

“Understood. Patching you through to comms.” 

Tim’s ear was filled with updates from the other bats. An explosion had rocked Arkham. Considering the two-colored pyrotechnics best guesses were that Two-Face was the one staging the breakout, though who knew who else would take advantage of the chaos. 

He grimaced and pulled up his trackers on his car’s screen. He could see Bruce and Damian heading towards the Asylum. Dick was racing across from Bludhaven while Jason was circling in Crime Alley, daring any to harm the streets he had claimed. Tim’s own marker was on the other side of the city from the others. Right next to his was the blinking marker for the tracker he had put on Danny’s hoodie. He was about to dismiss the marker’s token when it suddenly pulsed one last signal and went silent. 

“Fuck.” Tim hissed. Danny must have found the tracker and destroyed it. 

“Language Little Bird!” Dick’s voice forcefully reminded Tim that he was on an open channel. 

“Red Robin! Report.” Batman barked. 

Tim allowed himself a moment to sigh before he switched into debrief mode. 

“I am unharmed and in no danger. A personal tracker I was monitoring was destroyed. I don’t believe this relates to the breakout.” 

“Oh a personal tracker? Who are you tracking?” Dick asked, his voice both genuinely curious and obnoxiously over the top. 

“Just so you know, Replacement, stalking isn’t how you make actual friends.” Jason’s voice carried his usual derisive tone. 

Tim wanted to pull his hair out. If he didn’t say anything they would continue to harass him when they should be paying attention to the breakout. If he did they would go all “Bat-paranoia” on Danny. (Just like Tim himself had done and fully planned on continuing too. Yes, he was self-aware. No, that would not stop him.) Danny had already found one tracker, if he had to suddenly deal with the entire Bat-clan after him he might run and considering he had flown under their radar so far, he might completely disappear. Even if Danny wasn’t actually his brother (yet), Tim didn’t want to put that kind of pressure on him. 

He hopped out of his car moments after pulling into the parking garage of the safehouse and ran to where a spare uniform was stored. The hair he had snagged went into an evidence bag, then he started to report while getting dressed. 

“Fine! I’ll answer but we need to focus on the current breakout. And you have to promise not to go all Bat-stalker on him!” 

“-Pot and kettle, Drake-”

“-Oh little bird has a boyfriend-”

“-Names!-”

“-Jesus, you are all useless-”

Tim ignored the voices shouting over each other as he mounted his motorcycle. He angrily kicked his bike into gear. 

“He’s not my boyfriend, I think he might be my brother!” Tim enjoyed the silence his words brought for a moment before he continued. “I ran into Danny at the corner mart, a woman mistook him for my brother and after seeing him I almost believed it myself. He looked like he had been living on the streets. I didn’t think he would trust me to bring him to the manor and I didn’t know for sure, so I bought him some food, snagged a hair to test and placed a tracker so I could find him again. Unfortunately, he must have found the tracker.” 

“Fuck.” Jason growled softly. 

“Fuck indeed.” 

“Language, Little Bird!” 

Tim groaned and focused on weaving through traffic to meet with the others to put the fires around Arkham. 

Here's my take. I hope you enjoy! I'm going to add more later. I'm finally able to write again and I'm going to make it everyone else's problem.

Also here are some random headcanons I came up with while writing this. First of all: all of the Bat-fam are so weird with money and in so many different ways. Tim and Bruce were raised uber rich. They will put every charge on a black, metal credit card. Bruce rarely carries anything lower than a fifty in cash, and will just write off any extra as a tip. Tim carries 20s in a bunch of different hiding spots around his person. Dick and Damian are raised very differently, but money is basically fake for both of them. No matter how well or poorly the circus was doing Dick would have been taken care of by those around him, and Damian grew up in the assassins and only knew about money as a foriegn concept. Jason always pays in cash, always carries cash on him in a bunch of hiding spots, but usually like really small amounts. He has three dollars in his boot, because that's what he had to do as kid on the streets.

Ear pieces! Bruce and Dick lean into their rich and ditzy personas and always have ear pieces in. They easily pass them off as the latest airpod or whatever and no one questions them. Tim is too paranoid of sound based mind control so won't wear the earpiece all the time, plus they impact the quality of his music (I head canon him as a audiophile) He gets alerts on his smart watch then pulls the earpiece out of a secret container in the watch. Jason can't be bothered to wear an earpiece unless he's under cover. His helmet has comms and when he's out of costume he wants to be left alone. Damian hates the rules his school has about technology or he would do the same as Bruce, he has to hide his ear piece in the pencil case for his art supplies.

Brothers, Aisle Six

Danny was having a terrible day, or more like a terrible week. His parents had discovered that he was Phantom, and had immediately attacked him. The only reason he had managed to get away through the portal was Jazz holding them back as she shouted at him to run.

Once in the ghost zone Clockwork was instantly by his side leading him to Far Frozen to help with his injuries. Once the worst of it was over Clockwork told him that to help keep him safe he was sending Danny far away from Amity; to Gotham. Whether he agreed or not didn't seem to matter as in a blink of an eye Danny finds himself standing in an alleyway with nothing more than what he already had.

The next few days were hard, and Danny was really trying not to let that get him down too much. So it only makes sense that the universe would take that as a challenge to do worse by raining.

When walking aimlessly in the grocery store to escape the rain he was absent mindlessly picking things up, reading them, and putting them down. That seemed to be a problem for some people though as in the next moment an older woman is grabbing his arm, and demanding him to put back what he was going to steal and asking where his parents are.

The woman doesn't even give him a chance to respond though before she is shouting at and pulling Danny towards an older teen (Tim) who is also standing in the aisle and now staring at them with wide eyes as they approach.

"You need to keep a better track of your little brother! I caught him trying to steal while you were over here looking at your phone!"

The older teen makes eye contact with those words. Now, Danny will admit that while this guy and him did look oddly a-like they weren't brothers, or at least he hoped that was the case. He would know if he was adopted right? Probably.

"Yes," Tim reaches out and pulls Danny out of the woman's grasp; tucking Danny into his side, "I'll make sure to do that thank you."

The woman obviously wants to continue talking, but before she can Tim is already walking away from her with Danny right next to him.

Danny is so thankful that Tim was willing to not correct the woman that he doesn't even notice when Tim plucks a couple hairs from him.

[that-weird-thing-in-the-woods]

I need Danny weirdly being

The infinite Realms version of Persephone

Where Clockwork has managed just like people into believing that his poor favorite son Danny gets taken away 6 months out of the year by Valerie aka the red huntress

And how she even changed phantom's name to Danny up on the surface just like Persephone's name in the underworld is Persephone top of world it's Kore

Clockwork is really out here with you on the fact that he wants his son back and promises not to attack and Danny's over here like we broke up years ago back in high school by ancient stop telling people that

The reason Danny keeps disappearing is because of college so he's absolutely confused in the background

~{…So here me out Male Wife X Girl boss }~

•Phantom or Danny•

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Clockwork was drinking some nightshade tea in his clock tower, when he heard the distinctive sound of a outer-world door slamming open in his clock tower shortly followed by the clicking of heels he was very familiar with.

“FATHER-IN-LAW”

Yelled a very pissed off Valerie Gray who is married to his Ghostling, Who surprisingly was not in her hero get up as she usually is when she comes to visit the realms even when she was with Clockworks ghosting.

“Ah Mrs.Gray what can I help you with?” Clockwork like a good Father-in-Law asked innocently before having one of the ecto-blasters that Valerie always keeps that her hips shoved into his face.

While Clockwork could have easily just destroyed her very existence in every timeline and made it so it would be like she never existed in the first place, but the only unfortunate part of being the Ghostly Father of Danny is that he would remember her and he would hate to make his ghosting cry.

“Don’t try to pull that ‘I don’t know anything about this’ bullshit with me” Valerie yelled after a moment.

“But I truly do not know what your talking about Mrs.G-” Clockwork almost finished responses before he was so rudely interrupted by Valerie who was yelling so much it was a surprise that she hadn’t her voice yet.

“Stop telling people I kidnapped Danny!, I have to keep fighting back other supernaturals who keep trying to kidnap Danny back into the ghost zone while beating off the supernatural hero’s who think I kidnapped my wife!” Valerie said much quieter but you could still hear the fire of her rage that the edges of her voice and after a brief pause she continued with

“Now you better stop or I will find a way to kill your ass permanently” and with that she left as soon as she showed up unannounced.

Clockwork just sat in silence for a moment

“I’m a keep doing it”

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Little Things•

•Valerie is the husband and Danny the wife in this and no you can not change my mind :)

•Val only calls Clockwork “Father-In-Law” is because of her respect and love for Danny as her wife

•Danny calls Clockwork “Patér”

•Danny is completely cool with being called Val’s Wife and calling her his husband, if anything he likes it

•Val is sick and tired of supernatural entities/ supernatural hero’s trying to kidnap Danny back to the realms or trying to fight for his hand in marriage, Not that any of that worked but she’s getting real sick of it

~{ Will add on too later if I feel like it }~

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Appearance•

Danny

Ghost Zone

With a shit ton of black and silver jewelry [+ and pants version!]

Val

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

~{And that’s it! Hope you gremlins like it sorry if it’s worded weirdly I am running on caffeine but this is a very funny idea lol, anyway until next time byeeeeee}~

[neilsbeloved]

the alchemy

summary: clark’s always been adamant on being private with his personal life. few friends, low profile, and a hushed relationship. he can’t understand why people would want to publicize everything about their life. that is until he sees you talking to one of the school’s football players.

pairing: quarterback!clark x student body president!fem!reader

tags: tooth rotting FLUFF, legally aged students making out, established secret relationships, clark being Whipped with a capital W, slightly insecure clark, emotionally mature reader, football descriptions, no use of y/n

The faint smell of donuts and caramel coffee fill the council office as you hear the soft click of the door lock. You turn around and you're immediately met with your boyfriend, clad in his plaid blue button-up longsleeve shirt, worn-out bag slung over his shoulders, and lips immediately placing a soft kiss on your cheek.

"Woah, woah, hold it there Farm Boy," you laugh, placing a hand right in the middle of his chest as his kisses quickly descended to your neck. The thought of him not actually locking the door haunted your mind.

"What?" He breathes. Still continuing his attacks on the column of your neck while carefully placing your food and beverage on your table. "I missed you."

With a little more effort on your push—which was exceptionally hard considering how much Clark has improved in terms of making you lose your mind—he finally pulls away. A bummed-out pout shaping his lips.

You smile even wider. Who knew the big friendly farm boy everyone walks all over on is actually the biggest grump when he doesn't get kisses?

No one, of course. Not one soul in Smallville High School knows because your relationship with Clark isn't even out to the public. Not even your closest friend knows about it—and you're sure his closest friends don't know either.

But it's been like that for three out of the on-going four years you two have spent in Smallville High and so naturally neither of you wanted to break the streak.

You run your head through his soft brown locks, giving him a sweet kiss on the lips. Clark's face immediately lights up, already pulling you off of the table you were leaning on to exchange positions. This time, he has a better view of the blank canvas that is your collarbone.

"Missed you," he repeated. "Brought you donuts and coffee from the Talon."

"Didn't know they did deliveries again." You humor him, grabbing the brown bag and pulling a donut out. Clark watched as you point the donut at him, urging him to take a bite. With his eyes locked in yours, he takes a slow and relaxed bite. You wipe the side of his mouth with your finger before taking your own bite. Groaning when the sweet taste of the glazed donut touches your tongue.

"They allow it for certain people." Clark plays along, nodding at you. His eyes wander to the gigantic bulletin board you had in the council office, seeing almost ten listed items now struck-off with a bright red marker. "Specifically people that are overworking themselves again."

You roll your eyes, rolling to his side as you grab the cup of coffee. "Who says I was? I just did my job."

"Babe, you aren't the only one on the council. You can't just cover for everyone's jobs just 'cause they aren't doing theirs," Clark replies, watching you eat.

"Says the one that always takes on Chloe's extra load," You retort with a sly grin. "You do know that the reason most of Chloe's writers are bailing on her is because they don't like her way of gathering her news, right?" You place down the coffee, still eating your donut as you place a hand on the one Clark had resting on the table.

Clark chuckles, "Chloe's my friend, what can I say? She's been like that since fifth grade."

"At least she's passionate about it. It's so rare to see someone so committed in their craft that I can't even deny whenever Chloe asks me for an exclusive… which, mind you, is almost seven times a week." You sigh, head subtly shaking.

"Weren't you the one that wanted somebody aside from me to interview you?" Clark furrows his eyebrows, putting on a thinking face. His eyes squint, "Something along the lines of not getting work done."

Your eyes roll back, finishing the glazed donut in your hand. "Yeah, 'cause I clearly remember how we spent twenty-five minutes eating each other's faces and five minutes actually answering questions."

You throw the crumpled brown bag to the trash bin from afar. You miss, badly, but Clark's quick to distract you from your lack of shooting skills by kissing you. Again.

"Let's shorten that twenty-five minutes then," he smiles into the kiss. Snaking his arm around your waist as he could still taste the sugary taste of the donut on your tongue.

The kiss was anything but sweet. It was full of hunger, desire… and something you can't quite pinpoint. Usually Clark has his own rhythm of sucking the air out of you but this time it's messy—all over the place. Like you'd disappear any moment now if he didn't move faster.

He doesn't mistake the very subtle jingle of door handle. He hears it crystal clear and yet, he doesn't pull away. When the sound registers in your ear, you pull away without a second to think.

You immediately grab a spare folder on the other table. Clearing your throat as you looked down on it, pretending to flip through the papers. Clark on the other hand looked directly at the student who came in.

It was Adam. The same guy he saw you with earlier.

"Oh—is this a bad time? I can come by later?"

"Actually," Clark begins but you cut him off.

"No, it's fine. Do you have a concern?" You ask directly. Putting on your professional mask as you looked at Adam by the door. Ignoring how you can actually feel Clark  glaring holes at the side of your face with his jaw clenched.

Adam stutters. Shifting from you to Clark, then back to you. "I, uh, I was wondering if there were any other tutors available? I'm kinda flunking Chemistry and I need to ace the upcoming test."

"Then study," you hear Clark mumble. It was a little louder than he had expected but who cares, obviously not him.

You inhale sharply, turning your head to the bulletin board for the tutoring sessions for the month. Your shoulders flunk when you see your name under the Chemistry border. The other one—Lana—was already done with her tutoring hours so it was only you left.

Your head turns to Clark. He had already seen the arrangement on the bulletin board, he was looking at you now to wait for your response to Adam's request.

"Uhm, you can take my slot. What time works for you?"

"Any time you're free." Adam smiles at you. Clark rolls his eyes.

You nod unenthusiastically. Taking the clipboard beside Clark and handing it to Adam. "You can write on the 4:30 PM row. I'll be at the library fifteen minutes prior to our schedule, and I can wait for you until quarter to five."

Adam happily writes his name, glancing up to see you and Clark exchanging looks. "Is he signing up for a tutoring class too?"

"No," the two of you say in unison.

Your eyebrows furrow slightly at Clark. The farm boy breathing deeply before he responds. "I'm asking about the, uh, football schedule," he looks at you for confirmation. When you nod approvingly, he does too. "Yeah, the football schedule."

"Oh… Well, shouldn't you be asking Coach Teague that?"

"How would you know?" Clark raises an eyebrow, sounding way sassier than you ever heard him speak. Adam looks at him with subtle surprise, masking it with a friendly smile. "Because I am in the football team?"

The air quickly shifts as Clark and Adam have a stare-down. Only broken off when you clear your throat. Adam reluctantly says goodbye, stepping out of the office with a wave directed to you.

When the door closes, you turn to Clark with your arms crossed. "What?" He groans. He knows that look all too well.

"Are you okay with me tutoring him?" You ask straightforwardly.

"Why wouldn't I be? You've tutored dozens of our classmates over the years." He shrugs. His hand slowly coming up to tug on the strap of his bag.

"You sure? 'Cause it's a yes or no question, Clark. I can have someone else cover for me if you don't want me to tutor him," you say genuinely. Brushing away the lock of hair that fell in front of his handsome face.

Clark's lips purse into a thin line as he nods, hands finding solace on your hips. "Yes, baby, I'm sure. Just… don't overwork yourself, okay? I don't want you gettin' tired from something that isn't even your job."

You bite back a smile, looking into his eyes with stars in yours while he pulls you in for a hug. Your head rests on his shoulder as you wonder to yourself—how exactly did I manage to score a man like this?

"Gotta go, Handsome. I'll see you back home," you give him a chaste kiss. Using every self-control you have not to respond to Clark's obvious attempts of deepening the kiss.

The first tutoring session you had with Adam was a quick one. Adam had a pretty solid foundation, he understood the concepts clearly, his only flaw was in his application of said concepts. Usually, he'd do well on the conceptual-based questions while also failing the problems connected to it.

One session wasn't going to cut it and so he booked you for four other sessions. All of which had a longer time frame, extending thirty minutes more from the usual one and a half hour long session. That only meant that you had to spend two hours with him every Tuesday and Thursday for two whole weeks.

Now if Clark didn't find it bothersome the first time, he definitely did now.

"So, uh, we still up for six later?" Adam leans on the locker next to years, smiling.

"Yeah, uh, sure. Of course. I'll see you at the library." You smile back. You quickly turn back to your locker and grab your things fast. Adam wasted no time diving into another subject.

"Oh, by the way, I—y'know, I really appreciate you being my tutor. I know you're juggling a lot of responsibilities and still, you never come to a session late and…" your eyebrow arches, waiting for him to finish. Thankfully, he takes the look in your face as a hint. "I was wondering if you'd let me treat you to a coffee? Just something after our session to show my thanks."

Your response arrives fast, without any hesitation. "No, Adam."

Adam gets caught off-guard by the firmness in your voice. He didn't expect you to say yes right away but he didn't exactly expect you to deny it in a split second too. He thought you'd at least think it over for a minute.

"Oh! But, it's, uh, y'know, coffee as friends. I'm not asking you out on a date," he laughs awkwardly but you could see right through him.

"I appreciate the thought, Adam, but no. If you have any questions about the lessons we're discussing, you can reach out to me—but anything else besides that, please do not." You breathe deeply. Eyes catching on the tall figure at the end of the hall, watching your encounter with Adam. "I have to go. I'll see you at the library."

You don't give Adam a second to respond, immediately slipping out of his sight only to find the end of the hall empty. No plaid-wearing farm boy in sight. You swallow on nothing, beginning to feel a thump in your chest.

It takes you some time of walking around to finally catch a glimpse of him. He was standing beside Chloe, visibly talking about something as they had laughs on their faces. You walk over to them, locking eyes with Clark in the process.

Just as you were about to walk by them—and possibly strike up some small talk—your shoulder gets nudged by your friends.

"Hey! We were looking all over for you! Did you hear the news?" Janet, your friend, says.

"What news?"

"Not so fresh meat just made it onto the roster. Rumor says he's starting quarterback," another friend, Rose, says. Her tone held a bit of bite to it, as if she didn't want him on the spot in the first place.

"Now that's a nice headline," a bright voice speaks. All three of you turning to the shaggy-haired blonde. "What d'you think, Clark? Not so fresh senior meat now starting quarterback. Kinda has a ring to me."

You tried to act naturally, chuckling at Chloe's words despite your friends glaring at them. Since he is the topic, you look at Clark. Eyes round and awaiting a response from him.

He doesn't respond though. He simply shrugs, looking at you like your were nothing before pulling Chloe away from probably stirring up a fight.

"That guy has some problems," Rose rolls her eyes, checking her nails carelessly.

"Yeah. He's already senior and he's only just tried out for football now? Damn. Talk about a late bloomer," Janet says high-fiving Rose.

"At least he's cute… right?" Janet turns to you.

"Huh?"

"Clark Kent. He's cute, right?" When Janet repeats her question, you felt something inside of you twitch. Janet's calling your boyfriend cute, and Rose's agreeing with her too. They're checking your boyfriend out. Shamelessly.

But you can't even worry about that now—your mind is filled with the way Clark looked at you moments ago. Like you were nothing. Like he hasn't met you even once.

Of course, you two hide your relationship to the school but there's always something unspoken of each time you look into each other's eyes. It's a comfort and a pleasure at the same time. A cozy blanket in the cold air. Hot chocolate every Christmas. Donuts and caramel coffee in hidden rendezvouses.

There were none of those when Clark looked at you earlier. You can't help but feel there's something wrong.

"Hey Mr. and Mrs. K! I was wondering if Clark was around?" You ask with a smile.

Your relationship with Clark may be a secret to everyone in Smallville, but his parents are a definite exception. Yours, not so much.

Jonathan and Martha share a look you recognize to be an apologetic one. "He's, uh, he's at the barn. He's been there since he got home." Martha answers with a strained smile.

You feel even weirder because Clark's parents have been nothing short of supportive. You two may have hidden the relationship from them for four months but they definitely enjoyed the idea of their son going out with you.

When you nod determinedly, turning around to head to said barn, Jonathan calls you. "Clark's, uh… you may want to be careful approaching him. He's a bit pent-up, with the football and stuff."

You nod. "Oh, of course! I'll be careful. Maybe he just needs a little cheer up." 

You head over to the barn in haste. Walking up the loft to see Clark with his head down, writing something in his notebook as a stack of textbooks sat beside it.

"Knock knock." You knock on the wooden rails, letting the sound resonate through the barn.

Clark looks up from his notebook, smiling the moment he registers it was you. But you notice his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. Still, you set that aside.

"What a surprise," he replies, voice clipped. "I thought you'd be slumped up with your council work and tutoring."

"And miss out an awesome opportunity to spend time with the charming plaid-wearing farm boy? Pftt, never," you drop yourself beside him. Propping your elbow up on the backrest as you turned your body towards him.

Clark chuckles, looking back down on the coffee table as he began writing again. You felt an even stronger twitch in your body when he does that—ignore you.

He may be tired, drained, or pissed off—but he had never gone through a second of seeing you without kissing you the moment the coast was clear. He'd always sneak in the quickest of kisses even though you two would get caught if he was slower by a millisecond.

"Clark, hey," you touch his shoulder. "I missed you."

His head keeps itself in place, "Missed you too, baby. How was your day?"

"Clearly not as harsh as yours has been. Wanna talk about it? I can spend the night…" you pause. "Oh, also, I heard you're starting quarterback! How'd that happen?"

"Did you now?" He laughs dryly.

The smile on your face falters, his tone felt like a bucket of ice was dumped on your head without your knowledge. He drops his pen, leaning back on the couch as he actually looks at you for the first time this night.

"Well, the previous one was injured. I stepped in." His answer is short and direct. His voice lacking the enthusiasm you're used to. "How about your day?"

You blink. Once. Twice. Thrice.

"Clark, what's the problem?"

Clark's eyes flicker up towards yours, hurt and anxiety evident in your pupils. He feels a tinge of guilt in his chest. Licking his lips, he reaches out for you only for you to pull away.

"Did I do something wrong?" You question. Though no matter how firm your voice was, Clark knew it was close to breaking.

"No, no, baby, you did nothing wrong—" Clark's voice rises as he panics. Fully reaching out to you so he can pull you to his chest. "It's… it's me, okay? I… I just—" he takes in a deep breath. "Don't you think it's time we made our relationship public?" 

It's clear that you were surprised with his question. The sharp inhale and your raised eyebrows gave it away no doubt. But why wouldn't you be? Not once has Clark ever thought about making your relationship public. In fact, he was the one that actually proposed it in the first place.

You tried your best to understand him though. "Is there a reason why you want to make our relationship public?"

"Babe, we've been hiding our relationship for three years. We started when we were sophomores, we're seniors now. No one can worry about us anymore. We're graduating in a few months—who cares by now?" This is the first time his voice actually held some energy to it. His hands intertwined with yours as he looks at you for approval.

"Clark, I know when you're lying," you say. Clark's throat bobbing up and down as he clenches his jaw. You place a hand on his cheek, your other hand running through his hair comfortingly, "You know you can tell me anything, Clark. Let's talk about this like adults."

It takes him a second to actually decide to speak, and another second to construct the words in his head. "I don't like how people still think you're single," he starts. "The guys talk about you, people in the hall talk about you… I hear so many promises from people that they'll ask you out either after the game or after graduation—regardless, I can't even respond. I can't tell them that you're my girlfriend because in the first place, no one knows about us—no one'd believe me." You feel his heart beat faster. The continuous thump underneath his chest makes your stomach flip as well.

"Call me selfish, but I can't take it when other people look at you and think that they can have you." His voice drops, hands tightening on yours.

"Like Adam?"

A scoff comes from him. "Yeah, like Adam. Have you even heard half of the stuff he says about you in the locker rooms?" Clark's voice raises. His sharp features straining furiously before he feels your hand tighten around his. It prompts him to raise your intertwined hands, kissing your knuckles. "It's nothing bad, baby, believe me. He wouldn't be walkin' straight if they were bad. It was just that he's so in his head that he actually thought he can take you out on a date."

"So this is about Adam?" You arch a brow, testing the waters. When Clark shakes his head, looking away to hide the smile on his face, you laugh. "Well, y'know, Farm Boy, he actually just asked me out earlier."

"I know. I heard."

"Then you also heard what I responded with?" Your lips widen slowly.

He sighs, turning his head back to you. "Yes, I did."

You smile at him. He returns it, ten times wider than yours. Your heart flips as the smile finally reaches his eyes—finally feeling right.

Quiet envelopes you both. A comfortable silence before you snuggle on his lap, resting your head on his muscular chest. "I understand how you feel, baby."

One of the things Clark loved about you was your ability to always have him heard and understood. Even the dozens of times he's missed your dates, suddenly cancelling unannounced; you've always been there for him with a patient mind, an awaiting ear… and probably a grumpy attitude when Clark specifically dipped on a day you were really looking forward to.

Now, one thing definitely changed; if before you had to trap him in the barn, force him to be honest and say his feelings, you were content that now all you had to do was talk to him sincerely and directly, no interruptions, and no hotheads.

"Does this mean we're going public?" Clark asks cautiously.

You lift your head, letting your chin rest on the center of his chest. "Just do good on the game tomorrow, 'kay Farm Boy? We'll see how the day goes."

It wasn't the answer Clark expected but he accepted it. It was better than giving him the hard no.

And so you laid there the whole night, trying your best to stay awake while Clark told you about his day. His hands running aimlessly through your hair and body until you fell asleep. When you did, he took you to his bedroom and let you sleep there.

A soft and tender kiss on your forehead to end the night.

Loud roars of the crowd could be heard from any side of the field.

The bleachers were packed with people, majority came from Smallville High while some were from the rival school playing. It's been quite some time since the game started and yet, it still feels like a win can be called any moment now.

You were there—since the very start—sitting at the very front row with Chloe by your side. Your friends Janet and Rose sitting away where the cheerleaders were sat. Each time you watched Clark fall short of a goal, you could feel your heart thump even harder.

Way before the game started, you had another little rendezvous with Clark. Giving him the best good luck charm in the form of red lace—which God knows where he kept—and a kiss on the cheek.

Clark's been training for this game for so long now. Weeks of hardworking and sweat come to this very day where he finally gets to earn his teammates' respect.

31-28, in favor of the opponent.

The air gets struck out of your system when you see the opposing team score another point. Slowly building on their lead against the Crows. Your teeth unconsciously nibbles on your lower lip, pulling and biting the soft tissue as you prayed for a plot twist.

"C'mon Clark, c'mon," you mumble under your breath. Glancing at Jonathan and Martha from a far as they too shared nervous and worried looks.

You hear a ring from somewhere, and suddenly they're all splitting into their respective teams. "The Crows asked for a time out," Chloe says. You nod, noting that on the pad of paper that Chloe gave you earlier. Both of you have been noting game highlights since the start of the game.

"Should we try interviewing them?" The blonde was already standing when she asks you that, eyes narrowed at the group of players bundled far from them.

"No." You shake your head. Chloe looks at you weirdly, you sounded way too energetic. "It's not really the best time, Chloe."

Seven seconds remain on the clock. All players head back to the center line as the game resumes back. Your eyes lock with Clark despite the distance. You could barely make out the expression on his face while he could clearly see yours—full of anxiety and hope, hands in a prayer position in the middle of your face.

With a new found drive to make you proud, he turns to the front to look at the opposing team.

You watch as all of the players scramble fast as soon as the clock began. Clark inhaled, clocking his arm back before throwing the football with all of his human force, every fiber in his being hoping that the other quarterback is able to catch it before the time ran out.

The football felt like it was on air for more than five minutes. Every head in the football grounds followed the brown ball as it made its way across the field, every person holding in their breaths as the second player reached up as the time hit two seconds.

On the last second, he lands a touchdown.

Happiness through your body as you jump with Chloe on the stands. Lungs screaming Clark's name as thunderous cheers filled the space, loud enough to even make the ground shake. The players run over to Clark, crashing into him while he throws away his helmet, eyes immediately searching for you. Just you.

Your heart begins beating faster, the idea in your head being thrown away as your legs move on their own.

Clark watches as you rush down the bleachers, sliding past everyone and anyone in your way. Confusion hits him for a second until he finally understands what you're going to do. Shrugging off his teammates, he runs over to the bleachers' side, the amount of adrenaline running in his veins was almost enough to push him to super speed onto your side and lift you up—almost.

The moment you reach the ground, Clark's already jumping over the fence, catching you in his arms.

"Clark!" You yell out, feeling his strong arms tighten around your waist as he spins you around. Your hair moves with the wind as it splatters messily all over Clark's face, his lips stretched into the widest and biggest smile you've ever seen from him. "You did—"

Your words are cut off as Clark lifts you even higher, crashing his lips into yours. The outside world is anything but a figment of his imagination now that he has you in his arms just after winning his first game as a quarterback—and the best thing of it all, was that it was in front of the whole school.

The deafening sound of cheers and wolf whistles make you smile into the kiss, head subtly pulling back only for Clark to hungrily chase after you, not letting you up so easily. When he finally does, with his lips all puffy and swollen, he's staring at you with nothing but affection.

"A real quarterback now, huh?" You tease, smirking lightheartedly at him.

Clark rolls his eyes, lunging forward to give you another kiss on your lips. "Not really, just your boyfriend."

You lose yourself in his smile, only to be pulled away from it when your head moves to the side. You see Clark's parents looking at you two with proud smiles while beside them were his friends—all of which had a shocked look on their faces.

Clark squeezes your side to get your attention back. A contented look grows on his face as he keeps his hold around you, making the moment last just a little longer before you two face the outcome of whatever just happened.

"Ready to put me down, Farm Boy?"

"Never.”

hearts, reblogs, and comments are highly appreaciated if you loved the fic !

[heartyluv]

Note: I was completely inspired by @stargirlygirl and her werewolf!caleb story, so please go check it out! I adored it. I bounced some ideas back and forth with her, too—like she’s just amazing. This is something new, something that kinda makes me delve a little more into the writer in me, so I hope you guys like it! Enjoy!

Creds to @/strangergraphics for the dividers!

Warning: SonOfSatan!Caleb/Reader (if that offends you, just don’t read), demons are prevalent and a problem, you get attacked, killing, blood, guns, swords, knives—literally just a lot LOLLL, Caleb’s nickname for you in this series—if we continue—is Phoenix

Word Count: 3K

Summary: A night that was supposed to be normal—routine—is flipped upside down when you’re attacked by a demon.

Devilish Expectations - Part One

You look at Mr. Arthur Winfred with boredom and slight amusement as he tries to explain to you why he’s making his fifth return of the week—and it’s only Wednesday. The older man had a habit of buying items, using them for whatever he needed, and bringing them back when they’ve fulfilled their purpose.

You understood a hustle—hell, you appreciated it. It didn’t hurt a multi-billion dollar cooperation if customers did things like this every now and again. But where you worked wasn’t that.

It’s a small tool and home improvement shop owned by an older couple who actually went to high school with the bald man in front of you. They told you all about how he used to do sly things like this back then and at first, it wasn’t a big deal to them.

Until he kept doing it.

The cycle began with one item every other month that then became at least three. Once he started making it an almost weekly occurrence, they had to put a pin in it—as they were losing profit and materials.

None of the workers and cashiers are allowed to let it slide after boss man made it explicitly clear to turn him away or threaten to call him if he didn’t heed the warning. It was a funny factoid to learn that despite the borderline scamming, Arthur was scared to death of Richard Leland.

The rule was clear: He’s still allowed to shop, but he is to keep his purchases. No returns.

“Mr, Winfred, you know I can’t accept this.” You look down at the torn box that contained a clearly used power drill. The least he could do was return the item in pristine condition to give himself a little credit, but his level of not-giving-a-damn was kind of admirable.

“I don’t know why! You accepted the last few items this week!” The wrinkles in his forehead shift as he tries to make his case, seemingly having this idea that he isn’t wrong.

“I accepted one item and that was only because Mr. Leland said I could,” you quirk a brown and push the box back to him. He was costing the Leland’s money with his scheming, no matter how funny you thought it was.

“So you’re not gonna take it?”

“I won’t. But I can call Richard—”

“Nope, nope,” he waves his hand in the air, sliding the box off the counter and under his arm. “You got it. I’ll just go somewhere where customers are heard and appreciated!”

“I’ll see you next week, Mr. Winfred!” you call out as he pushes the door open, causing the bell above it to jingle.

You huff out a breath as you look at the time. 8:17 PM. You need to get home soon. Like clockwork, your phone pings with a text message from your uncle.

Uncle G: You on your way home?

You: Not yet. I clock out at 8:30 today.

Uncle G: You know the rules. In the house before 9 and lock every door and window til I get back.

You: And don’t open the door for anyone, I know.

Uncle G: Good. I’ll see you in the morning.

Uncle Gabriel is the coolest and most secretive man you know. After your mother died for reasons he refuses to share until he believes you’re ready, he took his sister’s only daughter under his wing. He’s told you the story before—how he uplifted everything to move to this small city to give you a better life away from the town that harbored too many bad memories.

He’s been successful thus far and you couldn’t be more grateful for him.

There was a time where you once tried to figure out what happened to your mother, to all the family that you didn’t have besides Uncle G, but he was very serious in his words when he told you to stick to what you’re “supposed” to.

“The time will come where you will wish you didn’t know. Enjoy the bliss of ignorance while you have it.”

He’s dramatic like that, but you’re not some rebel who needs to go against his words so blatantly that it could put you at risk. You trust your uncle and he’s never steered you wrong. If he tells you not yet, then there was reason for it—but that didn’t mean you needed to conclude your own search entirely.

He didn’t know that you would pick the lock to his office to rummage through his notes and old material that unfortunately always led to a dead end. Every journal, note, map—it surprisingly did absolutely nothing for you when you tried to utilize the contents to seek answers.

Even if you wished there was another way, you’ve decided to settle for the reality: When the time comes for you to know—whatever it is—you can only hope that the damage it may cause you isn’t irreparable.

It’s your uncle being the protective man he is that you respect his choices. He used to believe he could keep such a crucial part of himself from you. One could only go so long with having pristine blades, fully loaded guns and ammunition, and new scars that showed up on the daily before the five year old they had stumbling around wanted to know what it was all for.

Demon Hunter, he told you with the straightest face. And you believed him. You had no reason not to.

But he decided to show you how serious he was when he took little you to witness him kill a demon for the first time in a controlled environment. You never forgot the way it screeched, hissed—how it taunted and teased with mirth in its eyes. It was a small thing, but it reeked and looked like something that came straight from Hell. Uncle G cut it down with precision, but he gave you his keynotes as he moved with grace.

They’ve always been among us.

They do not have fear.

They do not have mercy.

They will kill. And they will laugh as they do it.

Of course it stuck with you. Uncle G used to call himself a naive idiot for thinking it was better to keep you in the dark than it was to prepare you. He just wanted to let you grow up normal. You respected that. But you didn’t want to be like the rest of humanity who would fall victim to the unknown.

It was unfortunate that you couldn’t shout from the rooftops that demons were real, but Uncle made sense when he said, “Human beings are not reasonable creatures. They will target the ones trying to warn them rather than the things they are being warned about. It’s not selfish to keep it a secret. It is for our protection.”

They were starting to learn their existence though, as attacks started becoming more and more frequent around the country. Of course people tried to come up with “realistic” explanations for what the creatures were. While the damage being caused and the conversations sparked worried the both of you, there was only so much you could do as an experienced hunter and one who only knew how to take down a few small ones at a time.

“I’ll see you tomorrow Mr. and Mrs. Leland!” you call out shortly after 8:30 hits to the couple that are briefly organizing some things before they close up.

“Get home safe, hon!” Mrs. Leland’s pitchy voice bids you.

When you step outside, you’re greeted by the heady smell of rain and the discomfort it brings in humid temperatures. You hated summer, but you adored the rain it brought.

You look down at your phone on your way to the bus stop, concluding that seeing it being further away than you’d like, it made more sense to do the  twenty minute walk over waiting.

With your headphones popped in your ear, you make quick work to text your best friend for whenever she gets off work tonight, too.

Me: Heading home. Call me later?

You expected to have to wait at least an hour, but she texted you surprisingly fast.

Viola: You got it, babe.

Smiling to yourself, you pick a playlist to begin your short journey. You admire how the quiet city passes you by, all the cars with individuals inside living and experiencing their own lives without a thought in the world that there is in fact something bigger than them out there.

You turn down the alleyway that gets you home quicker, thankful for the warm light the store owners keep lit when the sun goes down. It’s not long until you’re walking down the sidewalk that leads to the small home that’s big enough for you and Uncle G. Nothing is out of the ordinary as you hum to yourself.

Until you get closer to see the blood on the porch and the door that’s wide open.

“What the hell…” you mumble to yourself. You quickly look around to see no neighbors disturbed or any sense of urgency. And you don’t hear anything, but you know there’s a problem. Besides the blood, Uncle G was thorough and he’s never done anything reckless like leaving your door wide fucking open.

You reach in your bag for the small pocket knife you keep with you, switching the blade to be revealed as you carefully make your way to your residence. When you’re greeted by the stench that you’ve become too familiar with, worry consumes your heart with each foot that goes up the wooden steps.

“Uncle G?” you whisper, passing the blood trail that leads into your home and onto the floors you just mopped two day ago. The reality of how things can change so fast settles disturbingly in your gut.

There’s no light on besides the dim one on the pirch behind you and it doesn’t illuminate up your path well enough the deeper you go. Finding the switch on the wall to your left, you gasp when you see the house in complete disarray. The coffee table was flipped and broken, the TV was destroyed, and the doors to all the rooms were broken off the hinges.

If you didn’t know any better, you would think this was a home invasion. Because of the smell that never fails to make you gag, you know this wasn’t a human being’s doing.

You frantically reach into your pocket to grab your phone to see if you could reach your uncle at all. As you get ready to select his contact, you hear the loudest footsteps making their way up the back steps, then ramming into the door that leads to the backyard over and over as the sheer force makes the contents around you shake.

In shock, you freeze when the weak wood is breached, a slimy gray hand with absurd fingers trying to grab at anything it can. The putrid smell grows and the reality that there is a big fucking demon right outside confirms everything you were thinking.

Your home was found and invaded.

This is what Uncle G has prepared you for. You put your knife in your pocket, run to your bedroom and grab the gun he gifted you a few years ago, making sure it’s loaded before you come back out to lay every bullet you have into this thing.

The acrid smell of gunpowder stings your nose with every pull of trigger.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you exclaim. It doesn’t even seem to be phased.

The demon laughs as if to mock you in your attempts to kill it, not disturbed at all by the hot metal that should’ve at least slowed it down. The slide of the gun locks to reveal that you’re empty after you release your last few, but you have no time to try and reload when the horrid beast pushes into the space it now makes tight, growling with teeth so sharp it makes your skin crawl.

It comes at you full speed with as much of it that its heavy weight allows, knocking down any and everything around and in its path. You dodge its gnarly grasp, running toward the kitchen to retrieve the katana like blade your Uncle hid for situations like this that had the potential to arise.

You used to think it was ridiculous to hide weapons in the house—that demons would never find where you rested your head. It’s working out for you now.

Well, you thought it would.

As you charge to get your first swing at the tall demon’s ugly face, it grins with pride when it stops your attack with its bare hand. Black blood pools down the weapon as you look up at it in shock. You‘re stunned by it’s lack of reaction to the pain, how it accepts the deep cut in its palm.

You’re not ready. Not for whatever the hell this is.

You try to make a run for it, remembering Uncle G’a words.

“There is no shame in fleeing. If it means you will live to defeat another, then flee.”

But it’s fast, grabbing you by the back of your shirt with its other bloated hand. Lifting you into the air, you screech when it slams you back down, completely knocking the wind out of you. You cough heavily, struggling to bring your breath back.

You can’t even move because of the sharp pain from being thrown into the hardwood floor without care.

“No,” you mumble when it moves closer, the mighty hand coming down to lift you up by the throat. You try to beat on its arm as your feet dangle, but you’re so weak and it’s stronger than anything you’ve ever known.

Your legs can’t reach far enough to kick and your fists are just as useless as the katana. With loud bangs, you’re hit against the wall three times.

Pain blooms all along your body.

Was this it? Dying before you even had the chance to try?

Just as you start to accept this unfortunate fate because you’re not really in the position to do anything else, a fist surrounded by a mix of blue and orange fire tears through the skin and muscle of the monster. You never thought that today would be the day you’d learn that the smell of a demon’s sizzling flesh is even worse than what it is on its own.

For the first time, it yells in pain, its grip loosing to drop you entirely.

Dry heaving on the floor, the sounds of struggle mingle and become a blur in the background.

“Master…Caleb?” the demon questions as if betrayed before roaring in determination.

Master? A person sent this?

You don’t bother watching, already hearing that whatever is happening is something you need to get away from. You need to find your Uncle now.

As they fight, the person who you assume to be Caleb is speaking, but you’re in so much pain that it’s incoherent. With all the strength you can muster, you start to drag yourself toward your phone that fell from you during the struggle.

But you freeze when the noise around you does the same.

You turn your head as best you can, seeing the demon of that magnitude slain in record time. Its blood soils and blackens your floor, inching closer to you the more it pools beneath the gross body.

The outline of the man beside the dead demon is blurry due to the throbbing in your skull. He starts to approach you and panic fuels in your already damaged body as you wonder if you would’ve rather tried to take on the creature or this Caleb with flames in his hands that seems to have delivered it to your front door in the first place.

You weren’t hallucinating, you were sure. You felt the flames near your face when he punched through it.

He had to be a demon, too. Being so unperturbed about everything as he didn’t even utter a sign of struggle. Being called its damn master. Flames.

You’ve seen demons fight each other. But why over you? Why in your house?

His presence becomes overwhelming behind you. With your arm that rests on the floor, you struggle to use your fingers to dig your knife out of your pocket. Boots thud on the hardwood floor and the smell of something sweet battles with the smell of the dead demon when he gets closer.

With the brief second that passes, you believe he’s crouched. It’s like you can feel him studying you closely. So with your last bit of fight, you thrust your knife out and into him. Weakly, you grunt as your hand drops when you push out your final shot of effort. The man doesn’t even react before he flips you on your back, forcing you look up at him.

Even past your disorientation, you can tell he’s handsome. Damn prick.

You smile to yourself to see that your blade did in fact make contact, lodged right in his shoulder. You’re proud of yourself even if it doesn’t seem to have bothered the brute.

“That’s no way to thank the man who just saved your life, now is it?” he teases, making you clench your jaw. Similar to that demon, he doesn’t bat an eye when he pulls out the blade. You want to be relieved that his blood is red rather than black, but a strong demon can deceive. You’ve heard of the shapeshifter ones. Maybe it’s making you see things.

“Can you move? Well, anymore?” he tilts his head with a smirk. “Seems like you’ve exhausted yourself in that final attempt.”

You don’t offer him any response, simply scowling at with all you can. Trying to to seem intimidating despite your state is all you’ve got going for your right now.

“You want me to leave, don’t you?” he chuckles breathlessly when you barely nod.

“It’s too bad that we need to talk. Us and your uncle. I’ll take care of you until he gets back.”

You want to fight, to stand and handle him until it kills you—demand how he knows about your uncle. But the nauseating ache in your bones won’t even let you try.

“Rest, Phoenix. I got it.”

The gentleness of his tone is the last thing you hear before your eyes involuntarily shut.

A/N: Be COMPLETELY honest with me. KEEP GOING OR NAHHH!?!? I know stories like this isn’t everyone cup of tea either, so if you don’t want to be tagged, please don’t hesitate to let me know! I completely understand.

Tags 🏷️: @innergardentoadpony @teacupwaifu @mcdepressed290 @calebapplepie @xcelfer @honeymoonfleur @obeythebutler @ajyoursgirl @notsurewhattocallthisblog8888 @honeycrispangels @dummiebunny @sucre-princesse @brailsthesmolgurl @klossnite @grlyeetswrld @beesin03 @dramaticalsachan @moonchildjae00 @asiatic-apple @callads7 @caien @stargirlygirl @multisstuff @littledarlingsthings @purpleamethyst25 @lazygelpen @floatinginaer @meadowinthesky @floatinginaer @grackerzzz @nod4mnm3rcyy @loveinorion @ur-l0cal-crypt1d @inutrasha94 @cowaungabungabby @gravity-pilot @nyanahogini @rosiesluv @goochfiddler99 @torturedbabyapple @kiyadeleine @carcelswaifu @blushofeve @whattnanii @asiaticapple @ashirelle

[jaqobis]

man so i've been rereading tdr and i've been really noticing here that the reason egwene has such a hard time with nynaeve is because she keeps being reminded of renna

and egwene doesn't even fully realize this! nynaeve doesn't even know she's doing it!

but egwene spends this whole book on HIGH ALERT, because the last time she trusted anyone, she got carried off to the seanchan!! siuan's directive about the black ajah only feeds into her own paranoia after being deceived by liandrin...who, you know, was black ajah. it's not undeserved fear!! but egwene has a hard time looking at anyone she doesn't know (or doesn't know well) as anything but a potential threat. she spends the whole first meeting with aviendha and bain and chiad thinking about ways to protect herself or defuse the situation, when in actuality everyone's wondering why she seems so on edge and ready to attack. aviendha literally catches her embracing the source and hastily goes I WOULD NEVER HURT AN AES SEDAI BTW, FOR NO REASON, JUST FYI,

but coming back to nynaeve...the thing is, renna — and this is really emphasized in the book, where most of the torment is off-screened and told to us later in absolutely horrifying anecdotes — really abused egwene in the way of alternating punishment with "kind" and "humane" treatment. she acted like the owner of a recalcitrant animal she really cares about, or...wait for it...a particularly abusive older sister. renna is the one with the knowledge, the right answers, and egwene was her foolish damane who was learning the ropes. who, when she was punished, was hurt because she'd brought it on herself.

nynaeve, village wisdom, also acts like the older sister with the knowledge, and with the right answers. she also favors egwene with the affections of an authority figure. it's totally different, of course, because nynaeve actually loves egwene and respects her deeply. nynaeve would never hurt her. but we see moments like nynaeve giving egwene's hair a playful tug after egwene compliments her...which completely sours egwene's mood....and is also reminiscent of renna patting her hair when she "does well." both nynaeve and renna position themselves as teachers who have taught egwene lessons, which they ask her to recall! and though their behavior and treatment of her are wildly different, egwene is unable to separate her reactions to nynaeve and feelings about nynaeve with her visceral disgust at her time as a damane.

egwene doesn't WANT to be a "good girl," because with the seanchan she was forced to be a "good girl," a pliable damane, or she'd be hurt until she became compliant. but she is free now, and she's determined to keep her freedom forever, so she CANNOT be the foolish girl who trusted an adult and got captured and tortured. she CANNOT be the valuable damane who had no recourse but to learn her lessons and attempt the smallest resistances allowed to her. she won't agree with an authority figure just because they're an authority, and she won't enjoy their kindness when they agree with her!! all of these experiences have been completely poisoned for her. and, importantly, nynaeve is safe to act out with. egwene couldn't react this way at the white tower, because they have the power to withhold her education, her future as an aes sedai (which she conflates with safety because she will have power), and because they too are willing to apply physical punishment. nynaeve, at worst, will get frustrated or say something sour, but she would never meaningfully hurt egwene. and there's the part of egwene that knows that, even with all of the trauma informing every choice she makes.

tl;dr as usual rj wrote some really compelling trauma material in the wake of egwene's horrific experiences with the seanchan. i love his commitment to depicting the messier, uglier trauma responses people can have and the sympathy with which he does it

[vulchak]

Alright I'm gonna watch the travesty that is the live action httyd. So I'm taking notes like for Lilo and Stitch, and I have the original script, and the original movie pulled up, just to be sure I'm not forgetting anything despite the original httyd being seared into my retinas since age 10

TL;DR written post-watch cause this became like 2,000 words, It's bad, it's horrendous. Pretty much everyone is slightly to horribly out of character, they're all mean and/or stupid. It's mostly the same movie, but every change is for the worse, and everything that's stayed the same is acted and directed MUCH worse.

Berk isn't their home anymore it's just some random island close to the nest, the Red Death isn't fireproof, they still fire into her mouth but there's no reason for it now unless you've seen the original, Astrid is emotionless through the whole thing, none of her anger, passion or any other emotion is here.

Toothless and the other dragons are much less intelligent. The CGI looks like a mobile game ad most of the time. Overall, not a single good thing here, don't bother watching it, let alone giving it money. Go watch the original, or read the books and ignore this fucking insult to animation and to How to train your dragon.

Right off the bat:

"This, is Berk" no the fuck it isn't, that's a moldy pride rock. It's so ugly and, small.

Oh, the sheep isn't even real. What too pussy to use a real sheep? It's a fake one attached to a bell like someone wouldn't notice a real sheep bleating or THE GIANT FUCKING DRAGON TAKING IT. I guess the point was they're keeping the sheep safe from the dragons, then why put out bait? If the dragons don't see sheep they won't attack? Probably? Man idk, it's stupid

The opening monologue too, is just. Soulless. More brief and not an ounce of sarcasm or dry humor. Y'know, a big part of Hiccup's way of speaking

Stoick so far is alright. He's not NEARLY as imposing as his animated counterpart, didn't even recognize him at first. Even with real human proportion limitations, still think they could've done more in the costuming department, at least added some height to him cause rn Hiccup is like, up to his shoulder which just feels wrong

CGI so far looks horrendous, a shot of the dragons setting fire to the village looks like a fucking mobile game ad

Hiccup going to Gobber and that whole little scene is much more clunky here. They've removed basically all the sass and jokes from the scene, from BOTH sides. "They need toothpicks don't they" and "little-er" are gone The latter probably because they knew they severely miscast Hiccup cause this guy doesn't look like the scrawny little loser Hiccup is at the beginning of movie 1

Astrid coming out from smoke instead of walking in front of an explosion is just lame and screams "we didn't have the budget"

And on Astrid, Hiccup going on about how cool she is instead of just the delivery of her name letting us know he has a thing for her, is keeping up the trend of these fuckass remakes really struggling with subtlety and visual storytelling

Alright so Hiccup is a straight up moron now

First of all they're putting WAY too much emphasis on the Astrid thing, it wasn't acknowledged at all until a couple teasing comments from the CHILDREN in the arena, NOT Gobber Second of all, the launcher thing he built. Why the fuck does he firemit twice on purpose, at his fellow vikings? In the original it was an accident, he patted it, the mechanism was too sensitive and fired and hit a viking ON ACCIDENT

All the acting is so incredibly, and I hate using the word but there's no better one I can think of, cringe. It feels like a youtube skit more than a movie

And the delivery is horrible, especially on Gobber. In the original you could tell him and Hiccup were at odds but they still liked each other, Gobber came across as a silly uncle figure, who was still protective, and only became serious when he saw Hiccup was a danger to either himself(running out into a fight he wasn't ready for) or others(accidentally knocking a guy out with his launcher) here, Gobber seems to barely stand Hiccup and Hiccup is no better towards him

Okay just don't tell us the Monstrous Nightmare sets itself on fire, alright, HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THEN?? (I know because I'm me, but for general audiences it's a weird omission, if I didn't know, I'd assume it was just, accidentally on fire, not something it deliberately did) they didn't bother introducing the rest of the teens either, Hiccup calls them the fire brigade and focuses solely on Astrid, we don't learn the others names till later

The whole dragon attack is so slow and anticlimactc, and this is the last time I'm mentioning Hiccup's delivery, because it's awful. End of story, slow, over-exagerated, not an ounce of the charm and sass Jay Baruchel brought to the role

No talking fishbone rant and Hiccup imitating Stoick. 0/10

So, Berk is no longer their home. BERK IS NOT THEIR HOME. It's just, close to where a "key dragons nest" is… They're setting up for the 3rd movie where they just ditch Berk so it's not a plot hole aren't they? It just, gives so much less weight to everything. They're not defending their generational home they're just, camping out to kill dragons

This was no doubt done to explain the POC vikings, as "the best warriors from all around the world" but. They didn't need to do that. It's a fucking fantasy dragon movie, especially for the background characters, cast whoever you damn well please, you don't need an in-universe explanation that ruins the lore and significance of the main location

The great hall is also tiny and cramped now

Gobber doesn't stay to talk to Stoick, Stoick has to stop him from leaving the hall. Gobber is just an ass here. Fuck this whole movie, bury the script with some C4 and light it up

Okay they mention Valka, by name, that's a good thing, but it's the least I'd expect now that they know exactly where the story is headed

WHY IS EVERYTHING SO BRIGHTLY LIT THIS IS ONE OF THE MOST TENSE SCENES IN THE WHOLE STORY AND IT LOOKS LIKE THE GODDAMN TELETUBBIES HILL UP IN HERE

Overzealous, excited teenager "I have slain this mighty beast!" VS generic protag guy "I DID IT!"

The shot of the reveal of Toothless' open eye gives me goosebumps, every single time. The atmosphere, the score, the slow camera movement and angle. None of that is here, it's just, oh, it's open btw here he is

Okay more of every character being meaner for no reason, why did Hiccup start to leave? In the og he immediately went to cut Toothless loose. Here he has to hear a whine then go back. Jackass

And Toothless doesn't pin Hiccup because the CGI characters interacting with the live humans is expensive and hard to pull off. Also GOD he's so SLOW and just. He feels like he shouldn't be able to lift off the ground, all his speed and agility are gone, and BCAUSE of said sluggishness we linger long enough on his tail to SEE IT MISSING HALF OF THE TAIL FIN BEFORE THE ACTUAL REVEAL. FUCK THIS MOVIES' COMPOSITION AND DIRECTION IS ASS

He doesn't even faint, he doesn't even stumble he just kinda. Looks at Toothless flying away, and sighs. He doesn't look like a guy who got attacked by the scariest dragon they've never even seen, he looks like a guy who saw his car getting towed

The conversation between Stoick and Hiccup is alright I guess, just a worse clunkier version of the original with worse delivery, not much more to say

Ooookay, dragon training, dunno what "trial of flame" is, dumb, will be ignoring it. They seem to be cause they call it dragon training half the time, anyway. Banter is OK, however, "daddy pulled some strings" is such a dumb line. Second, Tuffnut sounds so whiny and him and Ruffnut being held back, 4 years, makes them 19-20. That's. A pointless, mildly weird inclusion

They act childish as ever but they're that much older than the other teens. Again, utterly pointless

"Will you stop that?! You big bag of wool." And so, insulting Fishlegs, for his weight, was absolutely necessary apparently? Isn't this supposed to be the modern progressive remake that "fixes" and "improves" aspects of the original??

As far as I remember, Fishlegs was never made fun of for his weight, not in the first move at least. I don't wanna say with certainty without checking. But in this moment he definitely wasn't, and it further makes Gobber just, a jackass in this version

So. Gobber takes Hiccup's axe, emphasizing how important a shield is. Then Hiccup has to awkwardly tap his shield with his hand to make noise while everyone else still has their weapons?? Why??

Yet again I find myself, asking WHY. Why did we need the dragon manual scene to go on for so long just so Hiccup can simp for Astrid some more? So Astrid can further emphasize how Berk isn't their home and they don't care about it? So we can learn Hiccup and Stoick's house, their home, the home they lost Valka in, the home they cherished. Is like the viking white house and if one of them isn't chief they get kicked out?? The fuck is wrong with this movie??

Unsurprisingly the scene of Hiccup reading the manual is short, lame and without a fraction of the atmosphere and creepiness of the original. It's like he's reading a damn instruction manual and skipping to the part he needs to read

Seeing the ships get attacked is pretty neat, alright that one is a plus

They put the hesitation before the nose touch back, good. But forbidden friendship just, doesn't hit the way it does in the original, it's kinda. Boring, didn't make me feel a damn thing

Okay all the "us girls gotta stick together" is so fucking annoying YOU CAN SHOW THEM BEING FRIENDS WITHOUT POINTING IT OUT WITH OVERUSED MODERN TERMS. Show don't tell, dammit

Gothi standing there moving beads is also stupid and pointless, and her design isn't nowhere near as charming as the original(design being casting and costume)

Exchanging dragon nip for dandelions is also stupid

"Who's a good boy??" Ah so Toothless is in fact, a dog now. Good to fucking know. He seems so much less intelligent here as a whole

Test flight is just bad, bad camera work, bad cgi, bad everything. And no Toothless accidentally running Hiccup through fire in the end. Why remove it it was such a fun little gag

If I don't directly mention a scene, assume it's the same, but worse. That's how a majority of them are, same script with minor alterations and worse acting and animation I just don't have anything to say on those

Not faulting Nico Parker, she's doing the best with what she's got, but what she's got is a bad script and bad direction. Because Astrid seems so cold, and emotionless. Seeing the Red Death and saying "what is that" wtih a complteltly nerutral expression, she sounds like she's asking about an ugly shirt her friend is wearing

Also how do you manage to make the northern lights ugly? How is that possible? Beautiful blues teams and purples vs puke green

"Don't get inloved, my dad respects you too much" VS "make sure they don't find Toothless" So this Hiccup cares more about Astrid's reputation, not her, her REPUTATION, than he does about Toothless' life. Got it. SIMP. FAILTHY FUCKING SIMP What have they done to my boy.

Okay there was one neat shot of Hiccup's hand matching Toothless' paw when they're trying to climb up

"ASTRID GET BACK HERE. THAT'S AN ORDER." So, he's concerned about flaunting power and being right, not just, getting a kid out of danger. He's upset they're not listening to him, not that they could get hurt

Fight between Toothless and Hookfang is extended and I guess it's decently cool, but that, and the longer fight between Toothless and Stoick, just makes everything slower and more anticlimactic. The original was quick and snappy, this is just "we're filling time"

"You're not one of us. You're not my son." Cannot BEGIN to compare to "You're not a viking. You're not my son." Seriously the delivery, the line itself, hits nowhere as hard. I guess bringing up Valka is alright but feels a bit forced ngl

WHY DOES TOOTHLESS HAVE A FUCKING AMERICAN FOOTBALL CROTCH GUARD ON HIS FACE LMAO WHAT IS THAT

Alright final battle, mostly the same but worse, HOWEVER, The occupational hazard line was removed, this one and the setup for it earlier

And Stoick, doesn't say "I'm sorry" nor does he tell Hiccup he doesn't have to go. No no he says he was "just trying to protect him" and that whatever happens up there he's proud. He doesn't apologize, he doesn't take accountability for being wrong

They got rid of "not fireproof on the inside" with the terrible terrors, and therefore, no explanation as to how or why Hiccup decided to fire inside the Red Death's mouth. Especially considering SHE'S NOT FIREPROOF. THEY BLEW HOLES IN HER WINGS AND FLEW THROUGH THEM FOR A COOL VISUAL, COMPLETELY FUCKING RUINING THEIR WHOLE LORE

Stoick apologizing and waiting to see Hiccup alive is alright, but they really should've kept it a father son moment, Astrid doesn't need to be there. Also, just he's alive. No "you brought him back alive" he still thanks Toothless later but that line was a nice acknowledgement to what he did

Well, the rest of it, is just the same, but worse. They acknowledge that Stoick and the others rode back on dragons, I guess that makes sense, it's alright

Snotlout has a non-subplot with his dad which was done much better in the show, not much else to say on that

And that was it. The live action How to train your dragon remake. In a word. Soulless. The same but worse. What they do change is for the worse, not a single person aside from Gerard Butler was cast appropriately, nor designed as far as costuming goes, they bend over backwards justifying the changes they've made and the movie is much worse for it

Every single character is also, meaner for some reason. Only Fishlegs is about the same but more whiny somehow. It's just. Bad, no other way to say it, it's bad. Gobber is the worst offender, he's an asshole to Hiccup, to the other kids, everyone. Hiccup is also so unlikeable and a genetic protagonist with bad delivery. By the end I couldn't give less of a shit if he made it or not cause he was annoying more than anything

Toothless is significantly less intelligent, agile and cool than in the original. Same goes for all the dragons honestly. Trash heap with bad cgi, bad acting and a bad script. I'll be happy when it's forgotten. And I hope the sequel gets canceled, but general audiences will make this at least an 800mil movie so that probably won't happen

[letyhide]

I might be too devotion pilled for this world. But I can't be normal about about how Flames whole server existence has revolved around Zam for MONTHS (Dont even talk to me about that book). And in a way, i could see a similar thing being said about Mapicc (not entirely. Or to that extent. But close to it).

The main reason Mapicc has logged on the server recently has been TO KILL Zam, or to work on some plan that will. The world is ending, there are crazy exploits all around, but the thing Mapicc is most concered about is Zam and her team.

When Zam took a break that is when Mapicc also lost all hope. And felt directionless. Even the times where he would log on prior to getting the mace, he would frequently lament about Zam not being there. Because at least she is "an enemy to fight" while other players (like Pangi, Derap, Squiddo) are "targets to destroy". And he would say how that makes things less fun for him. (He got some fire in him when he got the mace. But that was immediatly taken away when Flame void trapped him).

While she is by his side Mapiccs purpose becomes fighting alongside her. When shes against her, its to make her life hell.

When Zam said "you make everything so hard for no reason" to Mapicc, during their duel, mapicc replied "yeah.. thats the entire point". I think that Mapicc replacing himself to Flame in Zams eyes was his goal. That was a deliberate choice, as it makes playing on the server more fun for Mapicc too. Zam is everyone's purpuse. The heart of the server.

And it's so intresting to look at Flame, Mapicc and Zam, as players, and how they have interacted throughout the entire season, and then look at the point they are now. A few months ago we had a Mapicc that looked close to giving up on the rest of the season: only promising to help with fighting Flame alongside Zam. And now we have: Flame giving his entire inventory, enderchest and hearts to Zam, to go and fight Mapicc. These situations feel so similair but couldn't be more diffrent.

Flame didn't really care about fighting Mapicc, because to him, their teamup was never THAT real. It didnt matter that much. Mapicc had this whole talk about "Zam using him". But the one person who definitely used Mapicc was, in fact, Flame. Flame's whole purpose on the server was to mess with Zam, and that is the only reason he teamed up with Mapicc, he had ulterior goals, and USED Mapicc to get to them. And discared him once Zam was out of the picture + i think he realized hurting Mapicc would hurt Zam even more. (Mapicc says that he couldn’t really stop Flame from supporting him, as he was alone, and for stronger players than him Mapicc often has the mindset of "better with me, than against me" so yeah. Makes sense. Still not a good look from Zams pov)

But Zam saw things as they were. Flame was using Mapicc to get to HER. And that's also why he placed a lot of the blame of the Zaun warden attack on Flame... and forgave Mapicc (even tho he had a big involvement in that).

but later Zam killed Flame in the void to get revenge for Mapicc... and Mapicc didn't even acknowledge it much. She fought along side Mapicc again, for the creeking stuff. Just for Mapicc to be the one using her during it. And STILL she was the one trying to mend the relationship. Urghhhg.....

Again i also do see Mapicc pov in all of this. And I think being used by Flame hurt so bad, and made him feel so worthless that,, it kinda led to all the devotions mess we are in now (feeling used but not knowing where to place the blame). But all that matters to Mapicc is having fun, and if that purpose he was looking for is figting the most reliable teammate he has ever had, then so be it. They've both done this dance before. And neither of them are unprepared to do it again now.

[anon-188]

Could you write something like really angst with aj where like he went on a heist and she thought he was dead and like he apologises on his knees and then some like soft slow smut where he just keeps kissing her and apologises???? Thx

pairing: AJ x f!reader | genre: angst ❤️‍🩹 | wc: 2.3k

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), strong language, emotional hurt/comfort, implied (but false) character death, panic attack symptoms, bruised!AJ (light), heavy angst, crying, soft!AJ, unprotected sex, heist/robbery mention, gun violence (briefly mentioned).

a/n: if you were trying to emotionally ruin me, congrats—you succeeded. but seriously, thank you so much for requesting this!! i hope you like it <3

also… wrote this while listening to code blue by the-dream. yes, i cried 😭

It was a typical Tuesday morning.

You had your shift at the diner—the one just a few blocks from the apartment you shared with AJ. Same regulars, same buzz of the overhead lights, same smell of burnt coffee and old grease that clung to your clothes no matter how many times you washed them.

And AJ, well… he had a heist planned. Bank job. No details. There never were. That was part of the deal. 

He just kissed you—a little longer than usual. Told you he’d be careful and that he’d see you later. No real goodbye. He didn’t believe in those.

And of course, you didn’t love what he did—hated that it was unpredictable, that it came with too many unknowns and too many risks. But AJ had never given you a reason to doubt him.

He always promised to come home—and he did. Every time.

By now, it was midday. The diner was packed, lunch rush in full swing. Plates clattered in the kitchen, silverware scraped across plates, and someone at the counter was complaining about their toast being cold. You were in the middle of pouring a fresh round of coffee when the flicker of movement on the mounted TV caught your eye.

You glanced up—just for a second.

Breaking News flashed across the screen in bold red. You almost looked away, used to the noise of it by now. But then you saw it.

Outside of a bank. Police cars. Barricades.

A robbery.

Your stomach dropped.

You grabbed a rag and started clearing a nearby table, trying to play it cool as you leaned toward one of your coworkers. “Can you turn that up?” you asked, your voice low, like you were just curious.

She didn’t question it. Just grabbed the remote and nudged the volume up.

The anchor’s voice filled the room, crisp and too calm.

“We’re following a developing situation in downtown LA, where a five-man crew has attempted to rob First National Bank. Law enforcement has confirmed that the suspects are still inside, currently refusing to surrender. There are reports of multiple hostages. No demands have been made.”

Five.

Your heart gave a painful thud. AJ. Gordon. John. Jesse. Jake.

No. No. It wasn’t them. Couldn’t be. 

There were a lot of five-man crews. A lot of banks. You clung to that logic like it could hold back the panic rising in your throat.

You stacked dishes with shaking hands.

“Coming in now… it appears shots have been fired. Officers are returning fire. We’ve just received confirmation—open exchange between the suspects and police.”

The footage shifted. Camera zoomed on gunfire erupting from the bank entrance, officers ducking behind vehicles, smoke and shouts and flashing lights in the distance.

Your movements slowed, heart hammering, as the anchor continued.

“We’re hearing now that the crew has been taken down. All five suspects have been neutralized. We repeat—all five suspects are down. No hostages harmed.”

The stack of dishes slipped from your hands and hit the floor hard, porcelain shattering into jagged pieces that rang throughout the diner. The sound turned heads, but you hardly noticed. You stood there for a second, frozen, until your coworker rushed over to help.

“I’ve got it,” they said gently, crouching down with a towel, but their voice felt far away.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, though the word hardly formed on your tongue.

Your body was already moving before you registered the decision. You pushed through the swinging door to the back, grabbed your phone with fumbling hands, and bolted through the alley exit. The warm air hit you in a suffocating way, but you didn’t stop. You dialed his number with shaking fingers.

Once. No answer.

You tried again.

Still nothing.

By the third call, the tears came—hot, blinding, unstoppable. You pressed the phone tighter to your ear, willing it to connect, trying to hold yourself together in the space between each ring. But the signs weren’t looking good. Not this time.

A few hours had gone by, and with each passing minute, your heart broke a little more. You sat on the couch, eyes flicking between your phone and the TV, trying to focus on the news, hoping for something—anything—but nothing new had come in. Just recycled footage. The same looping clips of the scene. The same headlines. 

He would’ve called by now.

You knew that like you knew your own name. He always did, even when he couldn’t say much. Even when he knew he shouldn’t. He always found a way to let you know he was okay.

But this time… nothing.

It felt like your body had finally caved under the weight of it all. You doubled over where you sat, arms wrapping around your middle like you could hold yourself together. But the sobs still came, raw and heaving, until your whole frame shook. You pressed a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound, but it barely helped. You didn’t want to fall apart, but it didn’t feel like a choice anymore.

And it was like that for hours. One minute, your tears came soft and silent, slipping down your cheeks in slow surrender. The next, you were gripping a pillow and gasping through it, the ache rising too fast, too sharp. Sometimes you’d pace the apartment, aimless and angry. Other times you’d just stare at the door, wishing it would open.

The sun eventually dipped below the skyline, the light shifting. Outside, the world kept going, headlights flashing past, voices trailing down the street, but inside—your world had stopped. 

Just like that. 

Hours later, somewhere, somehow, you’d found the strength to take a shower—an attempt at a distraction, at pretending things were okay for just a few minutes. But nothing could quiet the ache lodged in your chest. Nothing could stop your mind from spinning.

And then—

A noise. Loud. Something clattering.

You stilled, water streaming down your back, breath caught.

Another sound followed. Something heavier.

Without thinking, you twisted the knob off and stepped out, water dripping from your skin as you grabbed the nearest towel. You barely dried off, too focused on the pounding in your ears. Your hands trembled as you pulled your clothes on, movements fast and uneven.

You opened the bathroom door slowly, careful not to make a sound. The space was quiet. Eerily so. You crossed the room, heart thudding in your chest as you reached for the bedroom door.

Just as you opened it, you were met with a figure on the other side.

AJ.

You let out a soft yelp, startled by how suddenly he appeared.

His hands came up instantly, breathless. “It’s me—hey, it’s me,” he said, voice low, urgent. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He was drenched in sweat and dirt. Clothes disheveled, shirt clinging to him. His jaw was bruised. There was blood on his knuckles.

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

Then the tears hit.

Your shoulders shook before you could stop them, and your knees almost buckled as the relief finally broke through. You didn’t even realize how hard you were crying until AJ’s hands reached for you.

His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into him. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, murmuring apologies over and over between shallow breaths.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against your skin. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You clung to him for a beat, the shock keeping your limbs stiff before your hands pushed at his chest, not to shove him away—just to breathe, to see him.

“Where were you? What happened?” you asked, voice breaking mid-sentence.

AJ pulled back slightly, eyes red-rimmed, jaw tight. “The job went south. Another crew showed up. Same bank.”

You blinked, confusion crashing into you. “But the news… they said five. I thought—”

“It wasn’t us,” he cut in, shaking his head hard. “It wasn’t us.”

Tears kept falling, faster now, sharp and wet across your cheeks. You hit his chest once—not hard, just enough to make him feel it.

“Why didn’t you call?” Your voice cracked. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I lost my phone, baby.” His voice dropped, rough and hoarse. “It was a fucking mess. I’ve been running for hours. The cops were everywhere—I just—I’m sorry.”

You shook your head, another wave of tears slipping free before you could stop them. “I… I thought you were dead,” you whispered, voice wavering as the words finally spilled out.

AJ’s brows furrowed, the pain in your voice hitting him like a punch. You saw it flash through his expression—tight, sharp, like he’d give anything to take the last few hours from you.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. Again. Like the words weren’t enough but they were all he had.

You didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. The tears kept coming, harder now, burning your cheeks as your body started to fold in on itself.

That’s when AJ dropped to his knees in front of you.

His hands found your hips gently, thumbs skimming over the hem of your shirt. He looked up at you, eyes dark with remorse.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he said again, more desperate now. “I swear—I’m sorry.”

He wasn’t crying. But it was written all over him—in the way his hands pressed into your sides as if he were anchoring himself to you.

The moment he saw another tear slide down your cheek, AJ reached for your wrist, pulling you gently toward him.

He drew you in until your body tilted forward, leaning into him, your hands braced lightly on his shoulders. He didn’t let go.

"Don't ever do that again," you said, the words catching in your throat as the tears finally began to slow.

“I mean it.” Your voice trembling with the leftover fear that hadn’t yet left your body. “I don’t want to—I can’t—I thought I lost you.”

AJ stood, cupping your face in his hands. “I’m here,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

He pressed his forehead to yours as he murmured, “I’m not going anywhere. Okay?”

You nodded, lightly.

“I’m here,” he said again, quieter this time. Like it had to be said twice to make it real.

You didn’t answer. You just leaned in, your lips meeting his in a kiss that said everything you couldn’t.

His lips moved slowly against yours, warm and weighted, thumb brushing along your jaw as the kiss deepened.

You pulled him closer, arms looping around his neck, fingers tangling in the hair at his nape. Your body pressed into his like you were trying to make up for all the time you thought you’d lost.

He moved with you, guiding you back into the bedroom, never breaking the kiss for more than a breath.

There, in the soft light, you tugged at his shirt while his hands slipped beneath yours, fingertips gliding over your skin. Clothes came off between kisses, slow and tender. Each movement was careful, but full of urgency. Not rushed, just needed.

His shirt hit the floor. Yours followed. His fingers grazed your hips as he helped ease your pants down, and you reached for his belt, working it loose while he pressed his lips to your shoulder.

As you moved to the bed, he laid you down gently, your back sinking into the sheets like they had been waiting for you both. The room was quiet except for the sound of your breathing and the soft rustle of fabric as AJ climbed in after you, settling between your legs. 

He kissed you again, lips lingering before he trailed them down, warm and reverent. He dropped a line of kisses to your neck, your collarbone, the center of your chest. You felt his breath against your skin, felt the way he paused at your stomach, his hands smoothing over your sides with a touch that was apologetic.

When he moved lower, intent clear in the way he kissed just above your thigh, you stopped him, fingers threading into his hair.

He looked up at you, eyes soft, searching your face.

“I just want you,” you said, your voice quiet but sure.

He nodded, then began to crawl back up your body, never breaking eye contact.

His lips met yours again, deep and full, as he reached down between you, lining himself up.

He entered you slowly, letting your body take him inch by inch. Your hands slid over his ink-covered back, nails slightly digging in. His forehead pressed to yours, eyes closing as he sank into you, a shaky breath tumbling out of him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, the words barely brushing your skin as he hovered over you, voice rough with guilt.

You wrapped your arms tighter around his shoulders and pulled him closer, pressing your chest to his, your mouth to his neck. You didn’t need to speak. Your body said it for you.

Your back arched to meet him as he rolled into you with rhythm, dragging against every tender place inside you. 

He filled you completely with each pass, pulling out just enough to make you feel the loss before sliding back in, deeper, smoother, with a groan he buried into the side of your neck.

His hands never left you. One stayed on your waist, holding you. The other slid along your ribs, your breast, your neck—touches that soothed as much as they worshipped.

“I’m sorry,” he said again between thrusts, his voice cracking. “I’m sorry I scared you. I was—I was just trying to come back to you. I’m sorry.” 

His hand slid up, cradling your jaw as he kissed you between movements—sweet, aching kisses that landed on your lips, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

You felt the apology in every push of his body against yours. He was deep, slow, focused only on you. On making it up to you. On being here. Fully.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as his pace stayed steady, his breath catching every time you tightened around him.

Every thrust was a quiet plea. Every kiss, a promise.

He was here.

And he wasn’t going anywhere.

please do not repost, copy, or claim my work as your own.

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[nartml]

"You lot refuse to see the real complexity in him"

Uh, I actually think that his repressed gayness is exactly the complexity you're talking about.

You could be making a good point about the infantilization of grown men, but you've got the wires crossed.

His being gay wouldn't justify his actions, but it sure as hell would explain them a lot better than anything else could.

Either he's horribly written, or he's stone cold gay, because his behaviour (read: assholery) towards the women he dates doesn't make any particular sense otherwise.

Call me crazy, but when the one consistent aspect of this man's characterization is that he represses every single goddamn emotion known to man, it's not far-fetched to suggest that he's repressed his homosexuality too.

We know that his parents definitely weren't the nurturing, supporting kind, regardless of wanting the best for their kid.

He married the only woman he ever dated when he was barely an adult, because he got her pregnant and they both felt pressured to create some sort of family.

Automatically being robbed of the time and space to explore himself, he had to officially "man up" and provide for his family.

He was enlisted in the army, having to endure the horrors of war, knowing he had to come back home.

And, while I don't doubt he loves Shannon, I also don't think that a man desperately in love with his woman would enlist to return to active war zones, behind her back, in an attempt to run away from the weight of the responsibilities awaiting for him if he were to stay with her and have her back, like she wanted.

He was a shitty husband, which is understandable considering the circumstances, but still. Shitty.

He comes back, and he's barely touched Texan soil, before Shannon was the one leaving, but with no concrete intentions to return.

When Shannon did come back, instead of their relationship being rekindled, she was gonna divorce him because she recognized that they were so young back then, that they had to grow up too fast and missed out on, you guessed it, exploring their identities outside of the responsibilities they had to take care of.

This, of course, freaked Eddie out because, he interpreted that as her leaving again, which was not something he wanted Chris or himself to go through again.

But they barely had time to actually address any of this, because Shannon died then.

After that, he repressed all of his grief and anger once more, which blew up in his face. Again.

And this vicious cycle kept on going.

He represses everything he feels like it's his full-time occupation, and the bills are due and Chris is starving.

We, the audience, barely know Eddie's true nature as a person, because Eddie himself has no damn clue either.

Christopher is his number one priority, and he's an undeniably great father, but we've seen him repeatedly making decisions for Christopher's sake, never his own, especially when it comes to his love life.

But even his immense devotion to his kid can't outweigh his instinctive aversion to dating women. His inability to imagine a future with them? His attempts at dating, in order to give Chris a mother figure because he thinks it's what's best for him, but his ultimate inability to commit to an actual partnership with them or let them all the way in?

"Reservoirs of catholic guilt, ready to consume me"? "Dating feels like performing"?? Man had a goddamn panic attack so severe he thought he was dying when he imagined a future with his long-time girlfriend???

Come on now. It's not batshit to suggest that this guy doesn't like women like that.

And even if it turns out we're gaslighting ourselves, it still doesn't erase all the queercoded aspects of him.

We think Eddie is gay, because the alternative is that the writers actually did a horrible job writing him.

Yeah, maybe he's just an emotionally immature dickbag for no reason when it comes to relationships (bad writing+boring+lacks depth), or it's simply a symptom of the fact that I went to the land of homo, and all the sexuals knew him.

I'll be honest, as a queer mexican man the way y'all talk about Eddie Diaz really pisses me off. You lot refuse to the see real complexity in him and admit he has done a lot of shitty things.

I think you've created this story of what you want him to be in your head where he is an eternal victim despite being a grown man and it doesn't do the character any favors.

I think you love the surfice level exploration of "latino culture" (whatever the fuck that means) he represents because he is the epitomy of "the good latino" propagandist figure. The USA army veteran hero, the one who isn't misogynist because he grew up in the US, the one who is brave enough to detach from his overbearing parents, the skeptic who rejects and even mocks the esoteric parts of his family's culture. The one with aspirations to be a model citizen and a "hero" to his son. Throws a couple of spanish words here and there, looks kind of brown but white enough for most demographics to find him hot.

He is comfortable to you.

I think y'all cling until your last breath to the posibility of him being secretly gay because you think if he had internalized homophobia this whole time then you can justify everything.

[brain4stew]

Can I have 1x platonic/romantic headcannons? :D

Its completely ok if not! I just like ur writing style and even tho I love romantic 1x cannons I haven't seen platonic ones I dont think. :>

P.s. by reading this, x1 Crispy hii™️ has been added to your inventory (use it to beat the $h!t out of ur enemies)

Ofc, ofc! I’ll gladly take that ™️ ty, ty! 🙂‍↕️

(Reminder that the characters might be ooc, as I do not know their exact personalities and actions and all that!)

1x1x1x1 (1x4) romantic and platonic headcanons. (Separate)

Romantic. 💝

It’d take some time for 1x4 to get used to you, especially if you’re a survivor. They’re a killer, for crying out loud! They’re supposed to kill and hunt down survivors!

Overtime, he’ll get used to you, and slowly but surely get attached to you. He sees your potential. How you can predict his attacks, minions and how to actually strategize. (Unlike some fata- mb.)

She’ll watch you, watching how you act, react, and how you move whenever you’re not against her, and against a different killer.

He’ll get a bit annoyed and mad whenever you’re extremely low on hp, but you survive nonetheless. Which only fuels his fascination with you.

When it’s their turn again, they don’t kill, they just approach you, and just stay by you. You’re of course on edge. Why would a killer not attack or try to kill you? Let alone, the being of literal hatred.

Overtime she’ll ask you a few questions here and there, you answer of course, with some hesitation, whilst keeping some answers hidden.

They’ll eventually become a friend of yours, or… Friendly to you… Not the others… But you don’t mind it. You know they’re a killer still.

After a lllooonnnggg time of being friends with him, he’ll ask you out. You’re hesitant, but accept nonetheless. You both keep your relationship a secret of course. You’re still a survivor, while he’s a killer.

Safe to say that, she’s quite attached to you. She’s like some grumpy feral dog, that’s putty in your hands only. (Sorry-)

They’ll cuddle you, hug you, and, kiss your hands, with consent of course. They don’t exactly like PDA or touch a lot, even in a relationship they trust. It makes them feel vulnerable. And they hate that.

He cook’s for you as well, even if you know how to cook for yourself and all that. Let him cook for you, it brings him a strange feeling of peace, and happiness… Don’t ask why, just accept the damn food he makes for you…

Platonic. 🧑‍🧒

The same as in romantic, it’ll take some time.

They’ll eventually become your friend. They might even see you as their sibling/cousin/child/parent.

She won’t say it outright, but it’s quite obvious that she’s cautious when it comes to killing survivors. Actually scared for once, that you’ll be disappointed in her, and scold her…

He’s seen near and around you, taking care of you, and helping you with whatever you need.

They don’t trust any of the survivors, except for 007n7 surprisingly, to be near and around you. Mainly because they know that 007n7 was and still is a father. A father of a child who’s a killer.

She doesn’t care that 007n7 is near you at all, but she’ll still keep a wary eye on him. Just in case he tries anything stupid in her eyes.

He’s not the best parent/sibling/cousin/child you could have, but he’s surprisingly a decent one. Even with the bubbling hatred within him.

They hide away their swords, and any and all things that are sharp, and that can hurt you. They don’t want you to get hurt at all.

He’s a surprisingly good cook… For some reason… But you don’t question it! Food is good!

[yuh13lo]

Lip gloss war | chris sturniolo

Chris Sturniolo had always been the type to keep things chill — laid-back, goofy, maybe a little shy when the attention was too much. But when it came to her—his girl best friend—his entire energy shifted. She was chaos wrapped in sunshine: always joking, always teasing, and for some reason… always armed with lip gloss.

It started as a joke one night after a content shoot. She had swiped on a glossy pink shimmer and declared, “You look too plain. You need some pizzazz,” before grabbing his face and planting about fifteen kisses on his cheeks, forehead, and nose. He’d protested at first—“What the hell, you maniac!”—but didn’t exactly pull away either. Afterward, he looked like a walking candy apple, shiny and slightly dazed.

From then on, it became their thing.

“C’mere, glossy boy,” she’d grin whenever he looked too serious. And he’d sigh—loud and dramatic—but lean in, because he secretly loved it. The way she laughed while carefully applying her lip gloss like it was war paint before attacking him with affection, it made him feel like he was the center of a very chaotic, very sparkly universe.

One lazy afternoon, the two were hanging out on his bed—she was scrolling TikTok, he was pretending to nap but really just watching her from under his hoodie. She turned to him with that mischievous glint in her eyes and reached into her bag.

“No,” he warned, pointing.

“Yes,” she smiled, already unscrewing the cap of her latest gloss. It was peach-scented.

“I swear to God—”

“Too late!”

She pounced, laughing, smearing peachy kisses across his jaw and temples. He squirmed and laughed, finally tackling her back onto the bed. They were both breathless, faces inches apart, her gloss smudged between them.

And then it slipped out more clearly.

“God, you’re insane… I swear, Ma.”

She blinked. “What did you just call me?”

Chris froze, heart skidding to a stop. “What? Nothing—I said—ma?” He winced.

She sat up, eyes wide. “Did you just ma me?”

He covered his face. “It just came out! I didn’t mean—”

She burst out laughing. “Oh, you’re done for. You’re obsessed with me!”

He groaned into his hands. “I’m literally begging you to forget that happened.”

“Nope,” she said smugly, leaning in to kiss his nose again. “You can’t take it back now. I’m your ‘ma’ forever.”

And just like that, the lip gloss war paused. But the air between them changed—just a little. Because under the teasing and gloss-stained cheeks, maybe they both realized something neither was ready to admit out loud just yet:

That maybe the nickname didn’t feel so accidental after all.

[silverhandenthusiast]

So my friend sent me this screenshot from Ao3…

Holy

Fuck

My girl Pearline is really getting sidelined for the fucking white man and antagonist of the film.

Like LET HER BE WITH HER MAN.

This has got to be on purpose, there is no way people aren't aware of who Sammie’s actual love interest is. I understand there's a lot of reasoning as to why male characters in these kinds of movies are shipped together and people are into that.

But THIS?

THIS?

Come on bro, this isn't right, Sammie might've only known Pearline for one night, but he clearly had a huge thing for her. If she lived they could’ e developed a long term relationship and eventually would get married and have a family.

But Remmick stole that possibility from them and forever traumatized Sammie. Let's also not forget that Sammie named his club after Pearline so her memory would live on.

I know everyone has their own preferences, but I can't get around this ship, it just seems icky and disrespectful to both Sammie and Pearline.

Can we please stop disrespecting female characters (In this case a black woman) just so we can ship two male characters together? There's a right way to do this without a character getting kicked while they're down.

But this is not it at all.

Remmick and Sammie have literally ZERO I repeat ZERO chemistry together. The only appealing thing people seem to be pointing out is that Remmick is predatory towards Sammie.

….

I'm sorry but if that's the appeal then I'm judging you BIG TIME. If it is kink shaming to say that predatory ships are weird and problematic then I guess that's what I'm doing.

The fact that you would sideline the green flag black girl over the biggest red flag white cult leader vampire is CRAZY dude.

There's a right time and place for these kinds of ships, but this is not the place for that. If you think Sammie and Remmick have more chemistry than him and Pearline….

Do me a favor and watch the movie again.

Without rose-tinted glasses, because clearly we did not watch the same movie.

Also If you feel personally attacked by this post, keep in mind this is just my opinion. It's not an attack on dark romance readers or anyone who enjoys that genre. If this was a dark romance book my mouth would be shut because that's up to the book reviewers to cover, not me. But its not dark romance, its Sinners, so I made a post about this nonsense.

With that being said, I am done with this rant.