#FIRST SHE WAS GAR

[ssspork]

What if theoretically, I drew Gar, Piranha, Molly, Tilly, and Minnow as cats (I was going to draw Phoenix but I forgot to ask what she would look like as a cat so)

[hondacivic]

thanks i think

bonus panel w no dialogue bc the joke works better without it but i thought it looked cute

[archersgoon]

with quintana the epilogue is unclear as to whether or not she actually does anything other than raise tariq but like there's no way that's the case forever. she's going to develop like hobbies & responsibilities & that. not fully sure on what theyd look like yet lmk if you have thoughts

[frogaroundandfindout]

Titans #47

[arolesbianism]

Shakes and cries I wanna make Jackie parent hc designs but I can't because potentially one of them is a prevalent character now and her ass has not spoken a single line yet so I both know nothing and can't just start making shit up yet </3333

[m00ntunaart]

2nd STARWARS/DAEMON AU POST!!!!! This time with the CC's and the Disaster Lineage!

Obi-Wan: Maned Wolf (Kee-Ayt)

Anakin: Lion (maned female lioness) (Asieko)

Ahsoka: Gryfalcon (Tuex)

Cody: German Shepherd (Beskar)

Rex: Siberian Husky (Queen)

Wolffe: Wolfdog (Whitefang)

Fox: Doberman Pinscher (Vulpe)

Bly: American Akita (Lyra)

LORE TIME: first off! Jedi! So I thought a lot about how daemons and Jedi should work. I did end up deciding that Jedi GENERALLY have bird daemons (like the witches in His Dark Material), BUT not always. The Jedi having bird daemons is not a ‘All Force Sensitives Have Daemons Who Settle As Birds’ thing. It wouldn’t make sense in this AU since Force-sensitivity is a spectrum and at what level would someone have ‘enough’ force-sensitivity to have a daemon for certain become a bird? I didn’t like that narrative as much, it felt restrictive. So instead Jedi tend to have bird daemons, but not Force-Sensitives. Like all Jedi are force sensitive ( and have bird daemons) but not all Force-Sensitives are Jedi, make sense? This is because of how the Jedi raise children and teach them to interact with the force. Because of how Jedi are taught to view and use the force, their daemons tend to settle as birds! It’s ‘nurture’ over ‘nature’ thing. Which is why (in this AU at least) the Jedi don’t take in older children to train. Because they’ve already probably learned their own way to interact with the force (different from the Jedi teachings) and therefore will have a non-bird daemon! Hence Anakin having a lion daemon. “But what about Obi-Wan?” (Well since Obi-Wan is one of my favorites I get to spice him up lol). He was originally very Jedi like (daemon wise) but after the whole Jedi Apprentice/Xanantos enslaving him/Melida-Daan war thing, he daemon ended up settling as a Maned Wolf! I imagine he was just about the age where his daemon would settle (usually 13-15, which is the same reason this is the age Jedi initiates are made padawans), so it was a surprise that his daemon so abruptly changed and settled. Most likely the effects of being so abruptly exposed to violence and war right out of being only use to the peace of the Jedi temple his whole life. 

(Extra) The 3rd page of the post! Cody and Obi-Wan’s daemons! Beskar and Kee-Ayt! Even though in my doodles Beskar seems to be very grumpy and even hatful towards Kee-Ayt, DO NOT BE FOOLED. Beskar adores Kee-Ayt. Their relationship just mirrors how I headcanon Cody’s and Obi-Wan’s. Where they will harass and bitch at each other to hell and back. Sounding from the outsider’s POV like two people who hate each other. When in reality these two are joined at the hip and love each other. They just will never admit it because “we have reputations to uphold!’ (Anakin says “what reputation? the reputation that one of you would murder the other if it wasn’t for the fact the GAR would court marshal the other?”) But yeah, Beskar makes fun of Kee-Ayt’s long ass legs. The mini ‘comic’ is about how I imagine that since all the Clones’ daemons are dogs/canines, when they win a battles they have a ‘Victory Call’ where they all howl. Beskar offers for Kee-Ayt to join in, but Maned Wolves can’t howl. They do this thing called a Roar-Bark (look up a video it’s so loud). This is the first time Beskar hears Kee-Ayt roar-bark and it scared the shit out of her.

(Extra Extra) The 4th page of the post! This is mostly doodles of Rex, Anakin and Ashoka’s daemons (Queen, Asieko and Tuex). All three reflect the close relationship that Rex, Anakin and Ahsoka have. Hence Tuex nesting on Queen and Asieko trying to groom Queen (who doesn’t appreciate the rough lion tongue bath she’s getting). (In fact Asieko tries to groom Tuex and Kee-Ayt too, but Tuex is too small and Kee-Ayt just starts biting Asieko bcs she doesn’t appreciate the bath either lol). We also have Tuex dive bombing Asieko (a common occurrence whenever Anakin and Ahsoka bicker). Tuex also does this to literally anyone who slightly annoys him or Ahsoka. And lastly the little doodle of Rex and Queen screaming! Idk if you’ve ever seen videos of Huskies, but oh boy are they loud and dramatic. I think with all the stress and insanity Rex has to deal with leading the 501st, he and Queen often have therapy screaming sessions. They deserve to. 

(ALSO, I will be making follow up reblogs with lore/plot stuff for each individual character)

[reidsmanuscript]

Exceptional

Summary: what happens when spencer hears the rumors about your teenage years? what happens when some of those rumors are true?. Pairing: Spencer Reid x lawyer!reader Genre: hurt/comfort and fluff at the end! wc: 5.5k! TW: burning wounds, bullying, misogyny/patriarchal behavior, violent and impulsive behavior. not proofread yet. A/N: in the middle of writting this i realized it's very based on "the archer" and "the man" by Taylor Swift Masterlist! (it's not necessary to read the first 4 chapters!)

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If we're talking about anecdotes from your teenage years, well—there’s not much to tell. Just the totally mundane story of an angry, emotionally volatile teenager with too much brainpower who somehow bulldozed her way into Harvard Law. No big deal.

JJ had great stories about high school—being the captain of her football team, those wholesome, small-town moments straight out of a coming-of-age movie. Emily had the wildest stories—traveling the world, the chaos of never staying in one place, and even the ones that made you feel something, like how badly she just wanted to fit in.

It started with the urgent case the BAU was handed—students linked to an elite Harvard secret society were disappearing, their bodies found staged in ritualistic ways. As the case unfolded, Spencer turned to you, his voice a little more cautious than usual.

“Do you know anything about some Seraphic Circle?”

You didn’t need to think. You’d heard plenty about them. Too much, really. "I’ve heard of them," you said, your tone dripping with disdain and rolling your eyes. “Rich kids with too much money and power. Half of them don’t even deserve to be there, but their families pay for their spot.”

You were reluctant towards accepting going with them to Massachusetts, too much memories and teh constant fear someone might recognize you and call you out for past decisions that maybe weren't the best. Maybe they were worse than you wanted to confess and might even scare Spencer away. 

Still, he had asked you to accompany them. “Do you think they will remember you?”

“Nah… i don’t think so, they have tons of law students per year so…” maybe your words were right, but the higher thn usual pitch on your tone gave you away to spencer, that only he was able to detect, of how you weren’t saying all the true

Long story short, that's how you end up where you are right now, walking behind de BAU towards the Dean of Harvard office, with Spencer by your side. 

You reach the office just as Hotch shakes the dean’s hand, introducing each member of the team. “SSA Jareau, SSA Morgan, and Dr. Reid,” he says, gesturing to each of them in turn. “We also brought—”

“Woodvale.”

The dean’s voice cuts through the room the moment his eyes land on you, recognition flickering across his face. Not even a hundred years would be enough to erase your name from his memory. He didn't like you back then. 

An almost cynical, carefully polite smile curves your lips as you extend your hand. “Dean Langford.”

He grips your hand firmly, his expression unreadable. “Seems like you’ve come a long way from that time your burned one of my students”

The atmosphere in the room shifts instantly, tension crackling like a live wire. But you don’t let it show, ignoring how he didn’t consider you a proper student. Instead, your voice remains cool, measured.

“Those accusations were debunked after no evidence was found,” you say smoothly. “Unlike the very real recordings and witness statements I had of that same student saying—” you pause, tilting your head slightly, your smile sharpening, “women became hysterical when it came to sexual crimes.’”

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Emily and JJ smirking, while Langford’s expression hardens.

The dean's smile barely falters. So, he does remember you. Not surprising—back then, you were even more impulsive than you are now. And that says a lot. 

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Don’t ask how, but somehow Garcia had dug up records that gave the team a list of names tied to the so-called “secret society.” Ironically, when the BAU interviewed students about it, everyone seemed to know what it was—just not anything useful.

“They sacrifice animals.” “A bunch of douchebags with too much money.” “They run everything. If you’re one of them, you’re untouchable.”

“Do any of the names look familiar?” Rossi asked, sliding the list toward you.

You scanned it, then shook your head. “Only the last names. But that’s not surprising—most of them come from old money.”

Garcia had also uncovered some interesting financial records. One name stood out: Andrew Carrington, former lawyer at his family’s prestigious Massachusetts firm. A-class dickhead.

“He’s got buildings in the city,” Garcia said, displaying files on the computer. “But his family’s the real power—deep pockets, old money. There are even a couple of campus buildings with their name on them.”

Rossi raised a brow. “Legacy admission?”

“More like a blank check.” You leaned back. “Everyone knew he bought his way in.”

“Any possibility he’s involved?” Hotch asked.

You considered it for a moment before shaking your head. “I don’t think so. Back then, this club was his pride. These murders? They only drag its prestige through the mud.”

“So… this Seraphic Circle thing,” Emily said, tilting her head. “Were you ever part of it?”

The police station buzzed around you, a low hum of voices and ringing phones, but your focus was on the files in front of you. Spencer sat beside you, skimming through pages with his usual quiet intensity. Neither of you was big on PDA—no hand-holding, no lingering touches in front of the team—but subtlety was an art you both had mastered. Your elbows brushed as you shifted in your seat, his knee resting against yours, the quiet pressure grounding.

“Not really,” you answered finally. “They claimed you had to have a big name in law, but what they really meant was that you had to be rich—and if you were a man? Even better.”

Morgan flipped through a file. “But you do know this Carrington guy.”

Before you could answer, Spencer’s fingers brushed against the side of your knee—a light touch so subtle no one else would notice. A quiet signal. He’d felt your tension the moment Morgan had mentioned Carrington.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “Yeah… It was hard not to know someone like him. He’s got that whole ‘king of the school’ vibe, but honestly, he’s not capable of something like this.” You spoke nonchalantly, but your voice betrayed a hint of discomfort.

The team shifted focus to the next lead, moving on to analyze the unsub’s possible personality traits. After a few more exchanges, the decision was made to call Carrington in for questioning tomorrow—there was no use doing it this late. The discussion had settled, but Spencer’s fingers brushed against your knee again, just enough for you to catch it. He was still attuned to your every movement, a silent understanding between the two of you.

After that, Hotch made the call for everyone to get some rest. One by one, the team decided to call it a night, heading out to their respective rooms. You and Spencer lingered behind, both of you wrapping up the last of your thoughts on the case.

Spencer was the one to break the silence. He looked around the station, then at you. His eyes softened for a moment before he spoke. “Enough for tonight. Let’s get some sleep.”

You nodded, thankful for the break. As Spencer found your coat, you dropped the files onto the nearest table. You stood still as he slid the coat onto your shoulders, the fabric brushing against your skin. As he did, you both made the mistake of letting your hands touch—just a fleeting brush—but it sent a warmth through your chest.

The walk to the motel was calm, with the quiet night air wrapping around you both. Spencer felt a strange mixture of calm and anticipation swirling in his chest, emotions he didn’t usually indulge. It wasn’t something he had the vocabulary for, not in his usual clinical sense. For once, there wasn’t a need for facts or equations to understand the feeling that settled inside him.

His fingers, almost absent-mindedly, curled into yours. It was a subtle movement, but the softness of it caught him by surprise. His thumb traced small, slow circles over the back of your hand, a tender rhythm he couldn’t quite explain. For someone who usually lived in the world of patterns and logic, this was unfamiliar territory. But the simple touch, the way your fingers fit together so naturally—it felt right.

In a world where everything was either solvable or predictable, this felt like the exception. There was no analysis needed. No need to question why it felt so much like a moment he wanted to hold onto. Maybe it was the quiet between you two, or the way everything around you seemed to fade as his thumb ran over your hand. All Spencer knew was that in that moment, nothing else mattered.

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The next morning, Hotch had sent Morgan and Prentiss off to speak with students on the campus, while he and Rossi took over the interrogation. The room felt different now, quieter—like the calm before another storm. 

Andrew Carrigton settled into the chair like he was sitting at a country club luncheon rather than an interrogation room. His suit was crisp, his cufflinks glinting under the fluorescent lights. If he was rattled by the fact that three of his former society’s members were dead, he didn’t show it.

Hotch sat across from him, his expression unreadable. Morgan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, unimpressed.

“Mr. Carrigton,” Hotch began, “we’re investigating the murders of three students, all of whom were members of the Seraphic Circle. You were one of its founders. We need information.”

Carrigton exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Tragic. Truly. But I haven’t been involved in years. You’d be better off asking one of the new recruits.”

Hotch didn’t budge. “We’re asking you.”

Carrigton smirked, tilting his head. “What do you want me to say? That it’s a secret society? That we have rituals and secret handshakes?” He chuckled. “Come on, Agent. It’s a networking club. A prestigious one, sure, but hardly the Illuminati.”

Rossi let out a sharp breath, unimpressed. “Right. A ‘networking club’ where only the rich and powerful get in, and anyone who doesn’t measure up gets chewed up and spit out.”

Carrigton raised an eyebrow. “That’s life, isn’t it?”

Hotch didn’t rise to the bait. “The night of the first murder, there was an event. Who was in attendance?”

Carrigton hummed, tapping a thoughtful finger against his jaw. “Hard to say. The Circle’s grown since my time. Dozens of faces, most of which I wouldn’t recognize.”

“You’re still connected. You know the leadership.”

Another lazy shrug. “I might know a few names. But as I said, things change. The president rotates out, always some eager young thing desperate to prove themselves. They run the show until the next one takes over.” He smirked. “I imagine the current one is quite overwhelmed.”

“Who’s pulling the strings?” Hotch asked.

Carrigton chuckled. “You give us too much credit, Agent. It’s not some grand conspiracy. It’s a club. People join, people leave. Some do well, some don’t.”

“And the ones who don’t?”

Carrigton waved a dismissive hand. “They drop out. Go on with their lives. Or—” he smiled, sharp, “—they stew in their resentment, blaming others for their own failures.”

Morgan’s jaw tightened. “You think that’s what happened here?”

Carrigton leaned back in his chair, perfectly at ease. “I think it’s always the same story. Someone on the outside looking in, bitter that they weren’t enough. And now they want to take it out on the ones who were.”

Hotch’s voice was cold. “That’s a convenient theory. But it doesn’t answer our questions.”

Carrigton’s smirk widened. “Then maybe you’re asking the wrong ones.”

From the other side of the glass, you watched Carrigton with growing irritation. He was the same smug, arrogant bastard you remembered from college, only now it was worse. His attitude hadn’t changed a bit, and neither had his ability to waste everyone’s time with his deflections.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as he ran his mouth, completely ignoring the fact that three people were dead, his precious club possibly involved. He was too busy leaning back in his chair, playing at some sick power game.

You glanced at JJ, your patience already hanging by a thread. “There’s no cameras here, right?”

JJ, clearly thrown off by the sudden question, gave you a puzzled look. “No… why?”

Without answering, you turned your focus back to Carrigton and felt your hands tighten into fists. His polished smirk made your blood boil, his greasy hair gleaming under the lights. Your shoulders squared, the weight of your frustration making your movements sharper. You ignored Spencer’s curious glance, his quiet scrutiny as he watched you.

You didn’t have time for any of this.

You walked to the door and knocked once, the sound sharp in the sterile room. Before anyone could respond, you turned the handle, stepping into the interrogation room.

Carrigton’s eyes locked onto you the second you walked in. His gaze flickered briefly, a subtle but noticeable flash of discomfort before he quickly masked it with that same patronizing grin.

“Well, well,” he sneered, adjusting the collar of his shirt like he was trying to put some distance between himself and the real world. “I didn’t realize the FBI was hiring gutter rats now.”

Spencer tensed from the other side of the glass, his expression hardening as his frustration mounted. He was clearly growing angrier at Carrigton’s smug demeanor, but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing you were even a little fazed. You simply smirked and kept your focus on the man sitting in front of you.

Carrigton’s glare never left you as you stepped closer, your tone ice-cold. “This ‘gutter rat’ is about to charge you with obstruction of justice if you don’t start talking, Andrew.”

Carrigton's eyes narrowed, his lips curling in a sneer. “That’s blackmail.”

You didn’t flinch. “And if you keep dragging your feet, that’s another charge—contempt of court. Trust me, I’ve got plenty more where that came from.” You leaned in just enough to make sure he heard you loud and clear. “You want to keep playing games, or you want to start answering questions?”

Carrigton shifted in his seat, the cockiness starting to waver, but he still clung to that arrogance like a shield, gripping it with white-knuckled desperation.

“I want my lawyer,” he said, forcing his voice to stay even.

You scoff, tilting your head as if you were genuinely considering his words before your lips curled into something sharp and ruthless.

"Is that your way of admitting you’re not a good enough lawyer to defend yourself?" Your voice was smooth, razor-edged silk, venom threaded through every syllable. "Start talking."

His nostrils flared, a flicker of something—hesitation, anger, maybe both. It was barely a breath, but you caught it.

"From what I know, the admission process has gone to hell," he sneered, grasping at arrogance like a lifeline. "I spoke with their president last week about it. I'm not throwing my money at that place just for them to start letting in anyone."

Rossi’s eyebrows lifted as he slid the crime scene photos across the table, each image a stark, undeniable truth. “Are these people just ‘anyone’ to you, Andrew?”

For the first time, Carrigton’s arrogance fractured. It was subtle—the flicker of his gaze, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed. His fingers twitched, but he didn’t reach for the photos.

And then you saw it. No matter how high his shirt collar was, it couldn’t quite hide the edges of old scars peeking out—angry, uneven marks trailing up the side of his neck, disappearing beneath expensive fabric. 

"We didn’t have anything to do with this," Carrigton muttered, his voice suddenly lacking its earlier bravado. His eyes flickered briefly over the crime scene photos, but his gaze quickly dropped.

"Who’s ‘we’?" Hotch’s voice was cold, demanding, cutting through the silence.

Carrigton didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he shifted in his seat, hands gripping the edges of the table, knuckles turning white. He wasn’t as confident as before.

You could feel it—he was trying to hide the discomfort, but it was there. The truth always made people uncomfortable.

You pushed yourself off the wall, your movement slow and deliberate, your eyes never leaving him as you circled around behind him. He tensed, just slightly at first, but it was enough.

The memory was still fresh, and you knew it. He hadn’t forgotten how you burned him—how the scalding coffee had left that mark on his neck. He was trying not to show it, but it was eating at him, that simmering, seething reminder that you’d done it and he couldn’t touch you for it.

You stopped just behind him, letting your presence loom over him like a shadow. He could feel your gaze, feel the space between you—too close for comfort, too close for someone who hated you as much as he did.

"What’s the matter, Andrew?" You leaned in, your voice low and smooth, but your words sharp as a knife. "Don’t like me standing here?"

"I told him to stop accepting anyone," Carrigton muttered, his voice tightening as he stumbled over the words. "Grayson Locke, that's his name. Legacy admission. But I had nothing to do with this. We even went through some names, cut people off."

You could feel the hesitation in his voice, the way he was trying to distance himself from the mess that was unfolding. His words were almost defensive, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as you. The stammering wasn’t lost on you—it was almost pathetic.

"What names?" Rossi’s voice was firm, but he wasn’t pushing too hard yet. He was letting Carrigton sweat just a little longer, a strategy you were both accustomed to.

Carrigton's jaw tightened, his eyes darting nervously between Morgan and you. "It was a list," he said quickly, almost as though the words were tumbling out before he could stop them. "Just find him. Tell him I told you to give it to you." He swallowed hard, his gaze flickering to the door. "Outside of that, I don’t know anything else."

There it was. The slip. The admission that he was just as tangled in this as the rest of them. But it wasn’t enough. Rossi stepped out of the interrogation room, heading off to search for the list.

“See? Was that so hard?” You taunted, slumping into the chair Rossi had just vacated, your eyes never leaving Carrigton. His smug façade cracked, just enough for you to see the shift. The sense of discomfort that he could no longer hide.

His eyes flicked to you, venom dripping from his words. “You think you’ve won? All you are is a stray dog who’ll burn in hell.” He spat the words, his jaw tight, but beneath the bravado, there was fear creeping in.

You straightened in the chair, completely unbothered by his outburst. “And you’ll be right there with me. I guess you know a thing or two about burning, don’t you?” Your smirk was sharp, a silent jab at the scars on his neck, the ones you’d left there.

His expression faltered, just for a second, but it was enough to make your blood run colder. Without warning, he shot to his feet, slamming his palms down on the table with a force that made it rattle. His face was inches from yours now, his breath stinking of rage and something darker—panic.

“Fuck you, you deranged bitch,” he hissed, his voice barely contained. “You’ll always be the daughter of some filthy addicts. You’ll never belong to this world. My world.”

You didn’t move, didn’t even blink. The words hit, but they didn’t land. “Did I strike a nerve?” You leaned forward slightly, your tone dropping to a razor-sharp whisper. “Or should I say... burn a nerve?”

Carrigton’s entire body stiffened, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles went white, veins bulging from his hands. His chest heaved with the kind of raw anger that radiated off him like a furnace. “You’re still the same psycho bitch I met years ago.”

You didn’t flinch, didn’t let his venomous words land, only smirked. “Have you learned how to make women come, Carrigton? Or are you still calling them hysterical? Is that why your wife is filing for divorce?”

It wasn’t just the words, but the sharpness of your tone, the deliberate push of your venom that made it sting even more. Garcia had provided all the dirt, the skeletons hidden deep in his closet. You weren’t above having a little fun with it, using it to your advantage. Carrigton, though, was losing his composure with every word you threw at him.

You opened your mouth to retort, but Hotch beat you to it, rising from his seat. "Enough. We appreciate your time, Mr. Carrington. We'll contact you if we need further information," he said, his voice calm but firm.

Andrew huffed dismissively, rising to leave. As he reached the door, he paused, casting one last venomous glance in your direction. "You think you’ve got a place in this world? Trust me, you don’t. People like you? They end up alone, scrambling to hold onto the little sanity they have left before it all slips away."

He didn’t wait for a response, Spencer’s gaze locked with yours the moment Andrew was out of the room. His eyes were filled with concern, but you chose not to address it. Now wasn’t the time.

Instead, you stayed silent, the words echoing in your head. Something about them stuck, gnawing at you. Maybe it was the way he spoke—like he knew something about you that you hadn’t even fully admitted to yourself. Scrambling. It was true, wasn’t it? You were constantly on edge, barely holding it together, pretending that you didn’t feel like you were one step away from losing it. Maybe it would be easier to just give in, let go, and fulfill everyone’s expectations of you. Be the damaged, angry, broken thing they wanted you to be.

For a moment, you almost believed his words.

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If murdered students weren’t enough to set the rumor mill on fire, your presence definitely did. The thing about rumors is that they spread like wildfire.

“Sooo… guess what we’ve heard?” Emily’s voice broke through the room as she and the others approached, grinning like they had just uncovered the juiciest piece of gossip on campus.

“Anything useful?” you asked without looking up from the file you were flipping through. “Or is this about the librarian hooking up with students in the archives? Because if it is—old news.”

Morgan smirked, shaking his head. “Nah, actually, we heard about some girl who once got a professor fired.”

“And,” Prentiss added, leaning in with a knowing smile, “was banned from mock trial as a freshman after making another student indirectly confess he bought the answers to his exams.”

Your fingers froze for just a split second—the briefest pause, barely perceptible to anyone but Spencer, who noticed it right away.

You shrugged, trying to keep your voice steady. “People get weirdly creative when it comes to making up rumors.”

Emily raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “So you’re telling me,” she pressed, “that you’ve never heard of the girl who burned some rich kid’s manuscript because he plagiarized her?”

You sighed, closing the file with exaggerated nonchalance. “Sounds like a legend. And legends aren’t real.”

Emily snorted, clearly enjoying this. “Or when she threw a chair at a debate judge for interrupting her?”

Morgan gasped dramatically. “And don’t forget when she flipped a Monopoly board at a networking event after some trust fund brat said she didn’t have the ‘pedigree’ for law.”

Emily smirked. “I heard she broke his nose.”

You shrug it off. “Monopoly makes people violent. Everyone knows that.”

You knew they weren’t trying to be mean, but you’d rather die than show any hint of regret. You had made some questionable choices in the past, but those didn’t define who you were now. Right?

Morgan chuckled, crossing his arms. “Right, right. So I guess the whole thing about you making a guy cry so hard during a mock trial that he dropped out of law school is fake too?”

You were forced to pretend not being able to stop the small smirk tugged at your lips, “Okay, in my defense, that guy was pretentious and thought using big words would make him win.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow, “Some student mentioned you, uh, burning people when they pissed you off.” He exchanged a glance with Prentiss, both of them catching on to your lack of eye contact. “Is that what the Dean was referring to?”

You couldn’t help but feel a slight heat creep up your neck, but you managed to keep your gaze on the desk, avoiding their eyes. You didn’t need to give them the satisfaction of seeing how much it bothered you. “People talk,” you muttered. “But if you believe everything they say, you’re as crazy as they are.”

You could’ve fooled anyone in that room full of profilers, because hiding behind your indifference mask was something you were well-practiced at. That was, of course, if they didn’t know you deeply. If they didn’t spend weekends with you, cooking together, exchanging quiet conversations and inside jokes. If they weren’t Spencer Reid—the only one in the room who could read beneath the surface.

He noticed the way you winced when you shifted your neck, the subtle way you massaged the sore muscles with your hand, avoiding eye contact with everyone. To anyone else, it might have seemed like nothing, but to him, it was a clear sign that something was off. You weren’t as fine as you were pretending to be.

"Anyone want anything? I’m doing a coffee run." You don’t wait for an answer, already making your way toward the break room. But the laughter behind you lingers—harmless, good-natured, but still too close to the laughter of your ex-classmates. It curls around your ribs like a memory you don’t want.

You don’t notice Spencer saying he’ll come with you, but you realize he’s there when you hear his footsteps—loud enough for you to hear him, deliberate so he doesn’t startle you.

At the coffee machine, you take a breath, ignoring him. You press the buttons and try to shake the feeling off, but when you glance at him, just for a second, all he sees in your eyes is guilt. Shame.

"What?" Your voice comes out sharper than you mean. "You also think I’m a menace to society? They’re lucky I turned out halfway functional. Statistically, I shouldn’t have.” 

Spencer stays a few feet away—close enough, but not crowding you. The perfect arms-length distance. It was something he understood about you, something you never had to say out loud. Letting you decide if you needed space or needed closeness. Giving you control, even in something as simple as this.

"None of them think that," he says quietly. "I don’t think that."

It takes effort to look at him, but when you do, the tightness in your chest gets worse. You hate it. You hate the way it feels when you take a step closer, resting your forehead against his shoulder. And you hate how naturally his hand finds the back of your head, his fingers brushing through your hair in a slow, soothing motion, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

"I didn’t mean to—God, have you seen the scars on his neck?" Your voice cracks, barely above a whisper. "What kind of… monster does that?"

His hand stills against you for a second.

It breaks his heart every time you talk about yourself like this—like you’re one of the people he spends his life trying to stop.

"Technically, the probability of someone from your background reaching your level of success is less than three percent. And even among that group, only a fraction manage to sustain high-pressure careers."

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Yeah? And what’s the probability of me snapping one day and proving everyone right?"

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t flinch. "That’s not the point."

"Then what is?"

He exhales, steady and patient. "The point is that I could pull up hard data showing how statistically, you shouldn’t have graduated at fifteen. Or made it through law school on a full ride. Or become one of the best prosecutors in D.C. The odds of that happening were lower than one percent. But you did it. So if we're playing by numbers, then statistically… you're exceptional."

He pauses, watching you carefully. Then, softer "And not in the way you seem to think."

Your fingers curl into the edge on themselves, nails pressing into your palms as you process his words. You hate how much they settle into your chest, how they make something raw and aching twist inside you. You exhale, forcing out a scoff, trying to grasp onto the sarcasm that usually keeps you afloat.

"You make it sound like I'm some kind of miracle," 

"You might as well be the proof that God exists to me," Spencer says simply, like it’s the most obvious fact in the world.

Your throat tightens. You shake your head, swallowing past the lump forming there. "I hate how you do that," you murmur.

"Do what?"

"Make me feel like maybe I’m not beyond saving."

His hand stills for a moment before he squeezes the nape of your neck, grounding. "Then I guess I’ll just have to keep doing it until you believe it."

And for once, you don’t have the energy to argue.

　　　　 　　  .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　

The case wrapped up when the team uncovered that one of the students they had interviewed had been fixated on getting into the Seraphic Circle. After his rejection, it became his breaking point, driving him to kill the members in a vengeful spree.

You would have laughed in Andrew Carrington’s face and shown him just how much that exclusive little club had spiraled into something violent and twisted, you would’ve. But, of course, that would’ve been disrespectful to the victims, so you didn’t. You wouldn’t let yourself sink into that bitterness.

But, it didn’t matter in the end. When you landed back in Washington—home, dear home—it didn’t matter. The case was closed, and, for the first time in a long while, you felt a weight lift from your shoulders. Your past mistakes no longer haunted you, and as you stepped into the familiar rhythm of your life, you realized that, just for this moment, you could breathe.

To be honest, you weren’t the same person you were back then. The young teen you once were would have never believed, or even considered, that she could be in a loving relationship with a man who would love her unconditionally, no matter what. She never would have believed that someone like Spencer could ever like someone like you. 

"Are you hungry?" Spencer asked, his voice soft as he dropped the go-bag by the entrance of the apartment. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead "I saw this new recipe for homemade lasagna," he added, his eyes lighting up in that way they always did when he was excited about something. "It has layers of ricotta, mozzarella, and this really rich, savory meat sauce that I think we could definitely pull off. I thought we could make it together—maybe add a little twist of our own, like some fresh basil?"

You smiled at his enthusiasm, noticing how his fingers brushed through his hair absentmindedly as he spoke. It was always endearing to watch him get excited over the little things. "Homemade lasagna? That sounds amazing," you replied, already picturing the cozy evening ahead.

His grin widened, and he pulled his phone from his pocket, swiping through the recipe. "It’s supposed to take a bit of time, but it’s not complicated...just a lot of love and patience—so, you know, I think we can manage. Plus, it’ll give us time to talk...and eat a lot of cheese."

You laughed, the sound light and full of affection. "I think I’m sold. Lasagna and cheese? Definitely the kind of night I need."

He gave a small nod, as if he were confirming his excitement to himself. "Okay, I’ll grab the ingredients. You’re in charge of setting up the music. Deal?"

"Deal," you said, already feeling that comforting sense of peace that only came from spending time like this—together, in your little shared world, filled with small moments that meant everything.

Who would’ve thought you’d be cooking lasagna with the soft crackle of a vinyl player spinning Billy Joel and Elvis Presley in the background

　　　　 　　    .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

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[demonic0angel]

Dan is sulking because none of Dick's friends fear him. He's just "Dick's grumpy/asshole boyfriend"! He hates them all! Except Beast Boy. All the Phantoms vibe with Beast Boy.

(Changed up the ask a tad bc I had an idea lmao)

"So?" Dick asked hopefully. "What do you think?"

His friends had just met his boyfriend, Dan, and he was hoping that they would like him. However, he was disappointed as they all made various faces, most of it negative. Dick wilted as Garth spoke first.

"He seems... fine. Kind of rude and standoffish though."

Rachel frowned. "His soul is even darker than my father's. I think he’s stronger too. I can tell that he didn’t like any of us.”

Vic nodded. "They’re both right. He felt really hostile.”

“Are you sure he’s nice to you? He treats you well, right?” Donna asked, a sharp glare on her face as she looked at her wonder twin up and down. “If he doesn’t, I’ll get rid of him and knock you out of your brainwashing. You’ve been hurt enough, we don’t need another creepy jerk disturbing your life.”

Roy snorted. “He better treat Dick well. Even if he’s stronger than Trigon, we could definitely take him down, right, guys?”

Everyone nodded as Dick sighed in exasperation, although he was smiling a tad. “I promise that he treats me really well. Gar? Kori? What do you two think?”

“Seems chill,” Gar said with a shrug. He stretched out in his kitty form, where he had been curled up and loafing on the sofa. “He gives really good chin scratches and he didn’t hurt me at all. Or any of us. He was really gentle. I can smell he likes Dick a lot too.”

He looked at Kori with a kitty smile, tilting his head. “Kori, you agree with me?”

Kori nodded and everyone looked at her in shock. She smiled and said, “I thought he was quite friendly. Perhaps it was while you all were distracted with the food? He is familiar with Tamaranean customs and was very polite. I can sense that he feels deeply and I can tell that he loves Dick very much.” She looked at Dick with a smile and continued, “As long as you’re happy, I approve. Although his attitude definitely needs work.”

Dick blushed. “Thanks. I like him a lot, though I’ll definitely talk to him about being rude to you guys. He’s kinda… well, maybe not kind of, he’s extremely traumatized, so we’ll work on it. But he isn’t too bad, right?”

He looked hopefully at everyone and they all sighed, looking at each other with looks that promised a team-up if Dick got his heart broken again, before they looked back at him and nodded.

Dick beamed. “Thanks, you guys!” Then he paused and looked at Gar and Kori curiously. “Though I wonder why you two got treated the nicest by him?”

Kori and Gar shrugged, also a little confused. No one had any answers for that either.

Later, as Dick called up Dan to ask him about what he thought, Dick asked, “So… why were you treating Kori and Gar the nicest? Gar said that you were really gentle to him.”

Dan’s response was almost comically bland.

“They’re cats.”

[flwrkid14]

The Tim Drake Heartthrob Conspiracy

It started as a slow, creeping suspicion. A few throwaway comments here, a couple of odd interactions there. At first, no one thought much of it.

One day, Dick was grabbing coffee near Wayne Enterprises when he overheard two interns chatting in line. “I saw Tim Drake today, and let me tell you, I think I’ve developed a new celebrity crush,” one of them said, giggling.

Dick nearly choked on his iced latte. Tim? Celebrity crush? He shook it off, chalking it up to the occasional corporate crush, nothing out of the ordinary for someone who runs a massive company. But then he heard it again the next week at a Titan’s briefing. Garfield leaned over to him during a meeting, nodding toward Tim across the room.

“Man, Tim’s really come into his own, huh? Guy’s kinda a looker now,” Gar commented.

Dick blinked, then frowned. “Wait, what?”

“Oh, come on, Nightwing,” Gar teased, “you can’t tell me you haven’t noticed! The quiet broody thing is working for him. I bet half of Gotham has a crush on him.”

By the time Dick got back to Gotham, the gears were turning in his head. Did half of Gotham have a crush on Tim?

Then it happened again. This time it was Damian’s turn.

He had been sparring with Jon in the Batcave, when their conversation drifted, as it often did. “You ever think about what it would be like to date someone like Tim?” Jon asked, completely out of the blue.

Damian froze, mid-punch. “What?”

“I mean, he’s smart, right? Responsible, kinda low-key. Would probably make a great boyfriend,” Jon continued, completely oblivious to the growing horror on Damian’s face.

“Grayson and Todd, are enough. I refuse to let another sibling of mine become Gotham’s romantic fascination!” Damian exclaimed later that night at the dinner table. The others laughed, assuming Damian was just being overly dramatic, as usual.

But the seed had been planted.

It didn’t take long for the other Batfamily members to start picking up on the signs.

Steph first noticed when she logged onto a Wayne Enterprises fan forum (because yes, those exist) and saw a thread that was simply titled, “Tim Drake’s Glow-Up Appreciation Post”. The page was filled with comments fawning over him—talking about his “sharp jawline,” his “dark, mysterious aura,” and how “charming” he was during interviews.

Naturally, Steph sent the link to Cass with a laughing emoji. “Look at our boy, growing up into Gotham’s next heartbreaker,” she joked.

But as more and more of these comments popped up in the oddest places, Steph’s joking tone faded. Was Tim really the next heartthrob?

The realization hit Jason last, as most things concerning Tim usually did. He was scrolling through his usual online haunts, browsing forums that discussed Gotham’s vigilantes, when he stumbled on something unusual.

A post titled: Top 10 Reasons Why Red Robin is the Best Looking Vigilante in Gotham.

Jason almost clicked out of it immediately, assuming it was some kind of joke. But no. There were paragraphs. Analysis. Photos that somehow made Tim look like a damn model, even in his ridiculous Red Robin cape.

Jason scrolled through in disbelief, not sure what he was more stunned by: the fact that people were thirsting after Tim, or that someone had gone to this much effort to explain why he was hot.

“That’s it. The internet is officially broken,” Jason muttered to himself, before sending a screenshot to the family group chat with the caption: Since when did Tim become a fashion icon?

The real kicker, though, was Alfred. After weeks of the Batfamily casually throwing around jokes about Tim’s newly discovered “status,” Alfred finally made his observation one morning over breakfast.

“Master Timothy has always had a certain quiet charm about him,” Alfred said as he served coffee, completely unbothered by the ensuing chaos.

Dick, nearly spilling his coffee: “Wait, you knew about this? Why didn’t you say something?”

Alfred raised a brow. “It hardly seemed necessary. I assumed you all were already aware of Master Timothy’s appeal.”

Appeal. Appeal.

Jason was laughing so hard he had to leave the room, while Steph and Cass exchanged glances that said everything: they needed to re-evaluate everything about their little brother.

The whole Batfamily was still coming to terms with it. They joked, they teased, but there was an undeniable shift. When they looked at Tim now, they saw what others had apparently been seeing for years—a quietly confident, strikingly intelligent young man who had somehow grown into one of Gotham’s most eligible bachelors.

Of course, the moment that really sealed the deal came when Tim rode into the Batcave one evening on his Red Bird bike, wearing hastily thrown on stylish outfit—a black leather jacket, perfectly fitted jeans, and a shirt that gave him a casual, yet effortlessly cool look. Running a hand through his still damp hair, a look of mild annoyance on his face.

“Sorry, I’m running late. Got a date.”

For a moment, the Batfamily just stared.

Holy. Shit.

And then, as if on cue, Dick, Steph, Cass, Duke, Jason, and even Damian had the same thought at the same time: Oh my God, Tim Drake is the Batfamily’s biggest heartthrob.

The realization was almost too much to handle.

[athenalvss]

SHE LOOKS JUST LIKE A DREAM ( Dick Grayson! )

request; can I ask for a dick grayson x fem!reader?! Where she is extremely beautiful, like surreal, and when she introduces herself to the people (titans and batfam) everyone is hypnotized and dick's ex-girlfriends get jealous

pairing: dick grayson x fem reader

a/n: I was enjoying so much writing this until I decided to be stupid in some way and delete all my work. sad af.

summary: A new hero has arrived in the city and after a few encounters with Nightwing on patrol, it leads to the beginning of a friendship - according to them - in a new case that involves the great heroes. Dick calls her cause he thinks she could help, but it is not her abilities that perplex his friends and family.

open request - batfam masterlist

The first time you met Dick, it wasn't exactly in a normal way, not even with his real name. The two of you were patrolling the city when you happened upon a bank robbery and arrived just in time before a guy inadvertently knocked him unconscious from behind.

That's when he turned around and saw you. You were somewhat hypnotic, with an ethereal bearing and a magnetic presence. It wasn't just the way your suit looked on your body; there was something about your gaze, it had a depth and power he'd rarely seen.

"Are you okay?" You said as you approached. "It was a hard punch" you said. He seemed a little dizzy, and you were worried he might faint somewhere in the city.

"Yes, yes," he whispered softly, keeping his gaze fixed on yours. He took a microsecond longer to analyze the little skin of your face the mask allowed him to see. He could see soft skin, the curve of your nose that fit the shape of your face perfectly, and lips that could drive anyone crazy. "I'm fine. I just didn't see it coming, thanks..."

From then on, you met every night on the same rooftop on patrol, and later, after a fight on those nights, they ended up revealing their identities to each other. They knew each other well enough to share their biggest secrets.

Your friendship had stopped being just nocturnal and you became part of each other's daily lives, but there was a small detail, no one knew of your existence, or at least no one had seen you, that was until one night you received a call.

── .✦

"Trust me, she'll be a big help with this." Dick came back to the room where all the titans were after making the call.

"She? Are you going to let a stranger into the tower?" Kori looked at Dick with a look of complaint and surprise.

“I trust her.” Dick was blunt, but not harsh. That sentence was enough to make Rachel look up from her book and Gar grimace.

“We didn’t even know he existed until ten seconds ago,” Kori muttered, “unbelievable.”

Before Dick could respond, the security system beeped softly: someone had just arrived at the perimeter. Dick walked over to the console.

"Get ready," he said, still staring at the screen as he excitedly headed for the door. "She's here."

When the elevator doors opened, silence fell like a heavy blanket.

When you joined, you went straight to Dick. The Titans couldn't see everything from where they were, but they clearly saw how one of your arms was around his neck and one of Dick's big hands was placed on your waist. The two of you started walking together toward the living room, him keeping his hand on your waist.

Rachel stopped pretending not to look. Her expression was neutral, but her eyes scanned you with clinical interest.

Gar, his jaw a little slack, turned to Conner. “Is she human?”

Conner just frowned, as if he needed to adjust his vision to confirm you weren't floating a few inches off the ground.

Kori didn't speak. She looked at you as if your every move was a carefully calculated threat. Her posture changed, becoming more rigid. Her arms crossed over her chest and her stoic expression didn't hide the flash of annoyance in her eyes at the sight of Dick's hand on your body.

Your gait was fluid, steady, marking your presence in the room with a naturalness that wasn't affected by the unfamiliar surroundings. Your eyes scanned the room calmly, taking in every detail, trying not to seem so surprised to finally be in the place that had once been Dick's home. But the four Titans standing there were watching you intently; everything about you seemed to belong to another planet: an ethereal, magnetic presence, your figure, everything about you.

You were like a model, definitely Dick's type.

Gar blinked a couple of times. Conner lowered his crossed arms. Rachel simply raised an eyebrow, visibly interested.

Kori, on the other hand, crossed her arms even more tightly, if that was possible.

Dick came closer. "Guys, she's-"

"Wait, no, don't tell me his name." Gar raised a hand. "I'd rather continue believing it's an illusion sent by some higher entity to distract us."

You smiled slightly, as if you were used to such reactions. "What a... warm welcome," you said in a soft but ironic voice, looking at them sweetly.

Conner watched you silently, assessing, as if he were wondering whether you were an ally or a dangerous distraction. Beside him, Kori kept an eye on you. "So what exactly is she supposed to do?" she asked in a cold voice, not bothering to disguise her tone.

"It's the best option we have to resolve this," Dick said firmly, deliberately ignoring the tension that Kori was barely concealing so as not to provoke a fight.

"How did you meet him?" Rachel finally chimed in, curious about the closeness between the two.

Kori watched you closely. "So how long have you been working with Dick?"

"For a few months now," he replied before you could say anything. "We met on patrol."

"Patrolling," Kori repeated slowly, her smile never reaching her eyes. "How... typical of you."

You didn't need to be an empath like Rachel to notice the subtle venom in her words. But instead of responding with hostility, you simply turned your head toward her with a half-smile, the kind that seemed to say, 'I know exactly what you're doing, but I'm not going to fall for your game.'

“Yes, it was a coincidence… a lucky one.” Your tone was calm, almost innocent, but with a subtle edge. “Though I didn’t think someone like Dick had such a predictable routine as to be considered typical.”

Rachel giggled, covering her mouth. Gar raised his eyebrows, as if watching a tennis match between goddesses.

Dick, uncomfortable but fascinated, tried to shift the focus. “She’s good. Seriously. I’ve worked with many, but few have her analytical skills under pressure,” he said, trying to avoid a fight.

Just as the mood seemed to stabilize, Dick's phone vibrated. He checked it with a frown, and his expression immediately changed.

“We have to go,” he said suddenly, his voice deeper. “There was another attack... but this time the pattern was different. They used a security protocol that only Bruce would recognize.”

“Batman?” Rachel asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dick nodded. “He and the family have been monitoring similar movements for weeks. It seems this isn't just a local case. What we saw here is just a small part. We need his technology to trace the data back to its source.”

Gar let out a low whistle. “Oh, we’re taking the mysterious beauty to the cave. That should be interesting.”

"Actually, I need you to stay here in case something happens," Dick intervenes, announcing his plan.

"Aren't we going to the Batcave? What a betrayal, bro." Gar started acting like Dick had just said something treasonous, sounding hurt by Dick's refusal. "At least we'll be in the pretty girl's good company."

"Umm..., about that" Dick begins to speak but pauses for a few seconds searching for the right words "She's coming with me" he blurted out quickly so no one could refute his decision.

Saying those words, you turned to the princess from another planet, worried that the vein that was popping out on her forehead from anger wouldn't explode, but she turned and walked away without saying a word.

Dick sighed and looked at you. “Ready to meet the family?”

── .✦

The Batcave was a place that used to impress anyone. If you were already impressed by Titans Tower, this was insane. It was cold, sober, a super-efficient place. But when you went down the elevator with Dick, even the shadows seemed to stop and stare at you.

Upon entering, the first thing you could see were all the Bat Family suits inside those transparent tubes on display, the long tables with super-advanced Wayne Industries technology, and the five key men in Dick's life.

Tim was the first to speak, though he didn't really say anything. He just adjusted his glasses and tilted his head slightly, analyzing you as if you were a fascinating new algorithm that refused to be deciphered.

Jason let out a low, unfiltered laugh, trying not to appear mesmerized by your appearance. He smiled crookedly as his eyes scanned your figure without any shame. While keeping his gaze on you, he murmured to himself, "Now I understand how Bruce felt about working with Selina."

"Sorry, what?" You asked him, trying to understand what he said.

"Why you just shut up, Todd? you look better that way" Dick answered him with a serious look.

"Nothing important,babe, sorry" Jason answered you without taking his look on you.

Damian, from the back, murmured something that only Tim could hear, although what mattered was his posture: arms crossed, brow furrowed, sharp gaze. “I don’t trust anyone who seems like an illusion generated by an AI.” A compliment in Damia language

Bruce, in the background, remained silent. His presence filled everything, like a shadow impossible to ignore. He observed every detail: your posture, your body language, the contact you maintained with Dick. His judgment was an invisible sentence in progress, but not immediate. He analyzed. He measured. He weighed, but there also appeared that slight raise of an eyebrow that, coming from him, was practically an exclamation.

You had caught his attention, and that was weird.

The almost imperceptible sound of smooth wheels on the polished floor broke the tense air. From a darker corner of the cave, Barbara's figure appeared, descending the side ramp. She didn't announce her presence, but everyone noticed her.

She radiated control and serenity. Her red hair was perfectly combed, and his gaze was as sharp as an arrow. she stopped at a safe distance, not getting too close.

“You don't usually bring unannounced visitors,” she said finally. Her tone was gentle, but laden with invisible layers: courtesy, analysis… and something harder to define. Jealousy, perhaps, disguised as professionalism.

You could feel her gaze moving from bottom to top, not at all subtle . Your boots, your curves, the contours of your face. Everything. There was no shame or dissimulation in her eyes; only an impassive assessment that bordered on the hostile.

You were simply beautiful, you made everyone who stood next to you look ridiculous, and she definitely wasn't having it.

Dick turned to her with a half smile. “She’s not a visitor. She’s working with us on this.”

Barbara slowly lowered her gaze to where her hand still rested on your hip. Then she studied you from head to toe, unashamed, and her eyes returned to yours.

Barbara held your gaze as firmly as she held her reputation. There was no wavering in her eyes, but no sympathy either. Just silent judgment, as if trying to decide whether you were a threat, a distraction… or both at once.

“I guess that's for Bruce to decide,” she finally said in a not-so-friendly tone, turning her chair slightly toward her, although she didn't take her eyes off you completely.

Bruce finally spoke.

“Good. If you're here, it's because Dick thinks it's necessary. The least you can do is prove it.”

You turned to face him and nodded professionally. “Of course. Where do I start?”

And so, without further validation, you integrated into the cave as if you had always belonged there... even though not everyone was ready to accept it.

And when you headed to your seat, Dick escorted you, placed both hands on your shoulders, and brought his mouth as discreetly as possible close to your ear. "I'm glad I can finally introduce you to everyone" he placed a soft kiss on your head before returning to Bruce.

[jedi-starbird]

Alpha-17 and Obi-Wan being friends (derogatory) on 17's part and friends (threatening) on Obi-Wan's part is such an underrated dynamic

They could be so funny and terrifying, like Obi-Wan went through a soul shredding experience with Alpha-17 as his only company. They're friends because what else are you gonna be after you witness each other at absolute rock bottom from torture.

It's like 'dog put in cage of cheetah who's threatening to go crazy', except the dog is a grizzly bear and also threatening to go crazy.

Emotional support trooper except the trooper in question has never done any sort of supporting in his life and is actively an emotional distress trooper to a great number of the CC batch.

I want them texting everyday, I want Obi-Wan mailing handmade BFF bracelets to Alpha and Alpha sending pics back of him flipping off the camera but still wearing them, I want Alpha using Obi-Wan to keep track of and occasionally terrorize his cadets, I want 17 ending problems in the GAR (like Krell) before they begin because Obi-Wan has him shipped out on a personal transport at the first opportunity, decked out with slug-throwers Obi-Wan got him for his decant-day.

Natborn officers think this is all just an odd indulgence of General Kenobi, the Vode, however, correctly identify it as a goddamn threat and their danger assessment of Obi-Wan ticks up significantly.

When Alpha arrives on Kamino, Shaak Ti presses a shiny new comm into his hand. It has the Jedi Order symbol painted onto it alongside a smiley face sticker, and it pings immediately with a new message: Hello! I hope you're settling in well!

Alpha stares at the message, stares at the singular contact named 'OWK' and then stares Shaak Ti in the eye as he pitches the comm straight into the ocean. Shaak Ti's serene smile only grows larger as she calmly reaches into her robes and pulls out an identical comm, only this one has a frowny face sticker, and presses it into his hand. It lights up: I'm afraid we've bonded, Alpha :). Alpha shuts it off and pockets it with resignation.

Cody arrives on Alpha-17's personal recommendation.

A-17: He's the most difficult little bastard I have. You're perfect for each other. OWK: Thank you, he's very handsome :3 A-17: No. Stop.

The first thing he asks once he gets comfortable is who his general is texting so much that has him swinging his legs and twirling his hair. Cody assumes it's Anakin, given they seem joint at the hip anyway, but little does he know Obi-Wan's ability to consistently have the Weirdest Relationships Ever.

"Oh, it's Alpha-17, I understand you're familiar with each other?" Hmm. OK. Cody.exe is experiencing a processing error, please hold. He exits the room instead of answering. The next day he peeks over the General's shoulder when he's texting and sees walls of rambling messages from Obi-Wan. Alpha-17 replies every hour with a single text: Lose this number. Obi-Wan giggles. "He's so funny." he says.

When Obi-Wan meets the rest of the CC batch, Cody makes sure to stand perfectly angled so that he can record the reactions when his general cuts off their introductions with "Oh, no need, Alpha-17's told me all about you." It's always immediate FEAR.JPG followed by a slow spiral of What The Fuck.

What do you mean by that General. What does that mean Cody. What do you mean they text. No. Cody. What the fuck is happening, Cody. Alpha-17 doesn't have friends he has enemies and enemies he tolerates enough not to shoot on sight.

OWK: Wolffe reached for his vambrace? when I mentioned you A-17: That's where he keeps his spare knife. OWK: Hm that does explain the way he eyed me up, ambitious. A-17: Clearly not enough, he should have followed through. I taught them better.

[clockwayswrites]

The Haunting of Danny Fenton Chapter 3, Part 2

masterpost (pls no editing or concrit, my words have been a mess but I'm trying!)

Dick took the corners of the halls at reckless speeds, careening around the corners in a way that only his Robin training saved him from smashing into walls. Speed was more important than safety.

Wally might be here.

“Verdict?” Dick heard Gar ask.

“Your vegan macaroons get a ten from me, could eat way too many,” a voice that Dick didn’t know said. “Though I still don’t get why you’re feeding me.”

“Dude, your heart stopped a few days ago. Cookies are in order after something like that!”

Who’s heart stopped?

Why?

Dick made himself to slow down a little from his panicked sprint as he entered the room. He scanned the space instantly: Victor, Raven, Gar, and the mystery person all settled on the couch. The news played silently on the TV.

“N.” Cyborg set the device he had been fiddling with down and stood. “This is Danny.”

Danny stood and spun around. He almost looked like he could have been an early Wayne with the black hair and blue eyes and weight he carried on his shoulders. “Flash sent me here. He said to tell you that you’re a ‘real dick’, but he said it fondly or like it was a joke!”

“Yeah,” Dick choked out. Even though Victor had told Dick the message, it still took him out at the knees to hear it from this stranger. “He would have.”

“I don’t know why that phrase works on all of you, but, I, um,” Danny grabbed a spiral bound book off the coffee table. “I also have a drawing I did of him after the first time that I got to see him clearly, if that also adds to what I’m saying. It’s him without his mask.”

Dick was torn between rushing over or going slowly in case that the image shattered their hope. He was there before he had decided how to proceed, taking the sketchbook.

Wally stared back at him from the page.

“That’s him, isn’t it?” Danny asked, voice almost impossibly gentle. “He says he’s trapped in something called the Speed Force.”

“It’s him,” Dick said after clearing his throat. It didn’t help the mixed feeling of tears and relief clogged there. He brushed his fingers over the dotted freckles of the drawing. “And he would get trapped by his own powers. Idiot.”

“Why don’t all sit down!” Gar said with forced cheer and a clap of his hands. “Danny can explain things now that you’re here and then we can figure out how to rescue W—Flash!”

“I even have drinks, since someone abandoned me as soon as he had cookies,” Donna said with a pointed look towards Gar as she entered from the direction of the kitchen. She passed out the armful of sodas to everyone as they sat back down. When she got to Dick, she took the drawing from his hands (he resisted the urge to grab it back) and replaced it with a ginger ale.

It was the same drink Danny had gotten.

“Explain from the start. From before Flash,” Raven instructed, which sounded foreboding.

Danny turned the drink between his palms. “Like I said, I’m a psychopomp. Ghosts and I—death and I have a pretty close relationship with each other. Have since I was fourteen and I sorta died in an accident in my parent’s lab, which I really don’t want to get into. But they’re ectobiologists, they study ghosts.”

“And one lab accident later you can talk to them?” Victor said. “Sure you’re not a superhero?”

“You joke, but I was, at least as far as my home town is concerned. Seems to come with having a fucked up lab accident, you know?” Danny asked, his smile crooked.

“Yeah,” Victor rumbled. “I know.”

“Anyways, I was never anything big, and I’m okay with that. It doesn’t really matter now anyways, dying comes with a pretty limited lifespan for a superhero sort of body,” Danny said with a wave, as if that would be the end of that conversation. “But the talking to ghosts stuck around.

“Outside of my home town, most haunted place in America, they’re pretty quiet and pretty incorporeal. They don’t bother me often, but sometimes there’s one strong enough that needs help moving on—willing or not. It’s usually not a problem to do it around my work and college, but then your Flash shows up and he’s not like the other ghosts.”

“How quickly could you tell that?” Donna asked.

“Pretty much instantly. He feels like… you know when you’d put a hand up against an old TV or CRT monitor? And you could feel that static hum? He feels like that,” Danny explained. “I couldn’t see him or communicate with him either. There was no sort of… Ancients this is hard to explain. There was no resonating vibe with him. It didn’t—doesn’t mean that he’s not dead, though he’s sure he’s not, but I knew he wasn’t a normal ghost right away. And that was before the seizures.”

Nightwing rested his head against the cold can of ginger ale. “…the seizures?”

Danny hummed. “Whenever Flash gets too close—touches me, I think—I have a seizure.”

“Dude! And that doesn’t concern you?” Gar shouted, bits of macaroons flying.

And Danny just shrugged, like it didn’t! “Well, I mean, I’ve already died? Twice. Well, three times now if my heart stopping counts.”

“Yeah,”Dick mumbled, “I think that counts.”

“Anyways,” Danny continued guilelessly, “the seizures basically put me in a state where I could have contact with Flash. I could see him, at least. There were only a few anyway before I tried the tea. The tea worked enough for me to talk to him. He gave me the messages, and now I’m here.”

Victor leaned forward. “I want you to take us through what Flash told you as best as you can remember.”

“And I want to know what was in that tea,” Raven said.

“And I want to know if you have your medication!” Gar chirped. Everyone turned to him and he deflated a little. But he continued gamely on as he always did, “Dude still has a hospital bracelet on! He might have come right here. See! Look at that face! He came right here.”

Danny did look pretty guilty with how he was rubbing at the back of his neck and pointedly wasn’t looking at any of them.

Dick sighed. He might not have Wally right then, but it did seem like he had another overly thoughtful idiot to look after in the mean time. “Did you come right here?”

“I had to let you know about Flash!” Danny said. “I know how long he’s been hanging around me and who knows how long it took him to find me. You all have to be worried.”

“Your medication?” Dick asked.

“It’s being filled?”

“Right. We can have Kori grab it on her way. She was finishing a thing up with the Outlaws,” Victor said. “We’ll just need your full name, birthday, and pharmacy where it’s being filled.”

Danny took a long breath and then took a decisive nod. “Right. I can do that. And then I’ll call Miss Wilhelmina Aleshire, so brace yourself for that.”

[nightingale-prompts]

Babying Batboy

First |Previous|Next

"He's all yours Kori!" Dick said holding up the Batboy burrito.

Danny chirped in distress as Starfire picked him up and swung him around in her arms. "You are much smaller than I thought. So little and cute!"

"Let me see, I wanna see his wings!" Beastboy said rushing over to get a look.

"Nightwing, what's that bag for?" Raven asked Dick joining in.

"It's Batboy's diaper bag." As he said this Danny's eyes snapped in his direction with murder in them, daring Dick to even try putting a diaper on him.

"Æah!" Danny babbled angrily.

"Don't worry he is housebroken." He laughed. "I put his supplies inside. His blanket, his bottles, chew toys, and this set of superhero themed pacifiers. You should give him one now. He gets fussy."

Danny turned red with embarrassment. Toddler-sized or not he was not going to be treated like a baby, at least not in front of the Titans.

"Aww, these are so cute. I've never really understood the use of these things since they weren't needed on my planet but I heard human babies need these." Kori laughed picking out the purple and black Raven themed pacifier and pushing it right into Danny's face.

Danny turned his head to avoid it.

"Looks like the little man doesn't want that one." Cyborg laughed picking up the green and purple Beastboy pacifier instead.

Danny turned his head the other way only to have the red and green Robin pacifier lodged in him mouth.

"I was right, he wanted one that matches his dad." Raven said.

"It's still hard to believe you had a kid," Cyborg said to Nightwing.

"I know, I thought my figure would never recover." Nightwing joked.

The group settled in the living room. Danny was still trapped in Starfire's lap, angrily chewing holes in the pacifier. If Dick pulled out baby food Danny would bite him.

"You know he has deformed wings, right?" Gar tried to sound tactful as he pulled one of Danny's wings to full splay. "His wings are only connected to his back muscles and not his chest. They would need more muscle, bone and wing span to fly. Not to mention the base sits so weirdly at his spine. Poor kid."

Danny hiccuped and tears welled up in his eyes.

One of the drawbacks of shifting is that it requires a shift in your mental state. Cravings, behaviors, and emotions change to match. Currently, the bat and toddler parts are overwriting his sensible older brain.

Right now his feelings were hurt because he worked so hard to make his wing and trained so hard to fly.

"Wehh," Danny whined.

"Gar! You know he might understand you!" Kori scolded him as he hugged Danny close to her chest and patted his back.

"Let me get him." Dick said leaning over to take Danny from Starfire only to have Danny smack his hand because this was all his fault this happened.

Danny pouted leaning into Kori.

"Guys Hex High is one!" Cyborg said calling everyone to the TV.

The other Titans scrambled to get a good seat to watch their favorite show.

Danny immediately perked up to watch.

This episode was a rerun. Nicky the android was debating who to ask to the dance. Rosetta Ferns the bush nymph or Alaska North the Yeti. Nicky doesn't know that Alaska was already going with her ex-boyfriend Finley Reef to see if they can make up and get back together.

"Alaska is too good for either of them and Rosetta deserves better than to be a second choice." Gar sneered.

"Finley was always taking advantage of Alaska's sheltered past to get her to do what he wanted. Remember when he told her that no one would eat the Gundruk she made for the potluck because he thought it was gross." Starfire chipped in.

Danny nodded along he fully agreed. Alaska was his favorite.

Dick hadn't actually watched the show but now he was stuck in the middle of the marathon and he finally understood why everyone loved this show.

Raven was actually the biggest fan and loved Whitney Wisteria the Witch.

Danny had successfully chewed through the pacifier only to get a bottle of juice instead because Kori thought he was hungry.

[help-i-need-a-cool-username]

Been reading a lot of sw angst fic so imma make a funny idea. The clones in charge (commanders, captains) start a competition amongst each other. The goal? Kiss your general

At first its for shits and giggles. The friendly competition becomes good for morale. And then. Then the jedi figure it out and they want in

Now the brothers are competitive but the jedi have no shame. Soon theres a scoreboard. Theres rules. Theres a whole point system. Every kiss must be recorded and sent to a committee they put together just for this

It is at this point in time when the competition reaches the ears of various members of the cast we know and love. And chaos truly begins

Aayla makes the first big splash because her video manages to get leaked and go viral. She grabbed a unsuspecting Bly by the belt before tossing his helmet and dipping him. They get extra points for Bly sticking his leg up. She releases him and he walks away dazed

The video brings the competition into the public eye, while initially being controversial among the non-jedi and non-clone members of the GAR bc fraternization and conduct, the Republic itself loves it. Its funny. It humanizes the clones. Its drawing monetary interest in supporting the GAR. So it continues

Padme calls Anakin and is like "whats your plan?" "There isnt any plan. The only person i want to kiss is you-" "screw that Anakin. You need to go big. Ive got money on you" "what-" "we need drama Anakin! Some flare! A stage presence! Have you considered a cape?"

Obi-Wan comes to Cody with his own dramatic plan and the men peer pressure Cody into doing it ("kiss him! Itll be good for morale!" "What is Commander Cody a coward!?"). They lose to Mace by two points. Both involved unecessary acrobatics

Depa figures out how to weaponize the jedi and vode's love of younglings by getting Caleb to kiss the cheek of a trooper's bucket as a thank you which jumps to the top and sets off a whole new bracket of the competition for younger Padawans

Plo, very mad that he can only participate under very specific atmospheric conditions, buys a stamp in the shape of a kiss mark and stamps the foreheads of his entire battalion. He's quickly swamped by votes from other jedi who cant kiss their clones or who dont have lips

You know that video of the guy covered in kiss marks and the cameraman is trying to figure out who did it? And at first you think its the girl because she's wearing the same lipstick but then the camera pans to a guy who's also wearing it but its super smudged and he's genuinely like "i wonder who did it?" That was Ahsoka's and drunk Anakin's submission and it was Rex's armor covered in kiss marks

The whole thing slams to a halt at Yoda's. The old geezer manages to win the whole thing. The man rolled out his whole 900 years of life and connections with the younglings in order to pick the greatest scenario for the most votes and points as possible, proving he is grand master for a reason

[elgarwhore]

(The Blood of Arlathan Spoilers)

(Audio of Solas and Elgar'nan bickering in Rook's head. Audio script included.)

Solas: Elgar'nan! Lethallin! Ma banal'evanuris. Ma salin ar ghilana?

Elgar'nan: Fen'Harel! You have no power here!

Elgar'nan: So the Dread Wolf has arrived to defend his pawn.

Solas: Your cruelty forced my hand.

Elgar'nan: A hundred generations, and still the same refrain.

Solas: Again, you have caged our people, and again, I will set them free.

Elgar'nan: But you were always stubborn, Fen'Harel. Insubordinate. Unmanageable, even by Mythal's reckoning.

Solas: You have lost the right to speak her name.

Elgar'nan: Ma vallas ban! Shev gar, Fen'Harel!

Solas: The only reason Mythal joined you was that she knew the monster you would become if left unchecked. She thought to temper your brutish ego. Instead, you betrayed her. Murdered her.

Elgar'nan: (Chuckles) Only the first time, Dread Wolf.

[Elgar'nan talking to Rook]

Elgar'nan: Your struggle is pointless, and your faith in the Dread Wolf is misplaced. Give up. Save yourself. Save your friends.

Solas: The cruelty is nothing new, but what happened to the vaunted brilliant mind of Elgar'nan the mighty? The blight has left you blunt and slow, a monster, not a mastermind. You used to be a challenging opponent.

Elgar'nan: You saw me as an opponent. To me, you were an irritation. A fly buzzing ceaselessly.

Solas: I must speak to you in this tongue. It seems Elven is beyond your grasp.

Elgar'nan: As much as freedom is beyond yours.

Solas: Once the blight is free, it will rule this world, and you will be its attack dog. You will burn this world at its command, as Andruil did at yours, and you will leave only ruin behind you.

Elgar'nan: This world is ruined already! Your Veil destroyed it!

Solas: You could heal it. You have the strength to repair the damage without using the blight!

Elgar'nan: (Choked laughter) Save your games for the mortals, Dread Wolf. The blight is my blade, and it will take more than your tricks to get me to lay it down. Your whining comes from envy, Fen'Harel, but it does not have to be so. There is a place for you at my side in a new, glorious empire.

Solas: But it will not have eluvians, will it? June built them, and now he is dead. Our great cities came from Sylaise. Our deepest mysteries from Dirthamen.

Elgar'nan: I will restore it all. Their achievements will not be lost.

Solas: You were a bully who ruled over what others had built, and now the others are gone. Who do you have left? Ghilan'nain? You cannot rebuild a world by stitching together monsters.

[stiles24]

Right on Time. | e.m.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x (f)reader.

Summary: Eddie's best friend comes to the rescue when a certain 'fan' of his band just won't quit.

-----

Rushing through the doors of The Hideout, you're greeted first by the familiar rush of smokey air, and then the gruff smile of Nick the bouncer. Squeezing his arm as you walked past, something near the stage caught your eye.

Gareth had spotted you the moment you walked in, and was now waving frantically. Subtlety had never been his strong point, and today was no different. As each step took you closer to him, his eyes darted between you, and the side of the stage.

"Where's the fire, G?"

Following his gaze, it took only seconds to zero in on the source of his panic.

Eddie was kneeling at the edge of the stage, tonight's setlist clutched tightly in his ringed fingers like a lifeline. Leaning dangerously close to him was the She-Devil, dressed in her usual skin-tight clothing. Her real name was Tiffany, and she'd graduated from Hawkins High a few years earlier. She had a thing for guys in bands, and apparently, Eddie was really doing it for her these days.

Tiffany had been to the last four Corroded Coffin shows, each time doing more and more to get Eddie's attention. To her, this seemed to mean wearing less clothing, and invading Eddie's personal space more. You'd been a little surprised when Eddie had brushed her off the first week, but it was clear that he wasn't interested, something she wasn't, or didn't care to understand.

The first time she'd shown up to one of their shows with a few friends, it had earned Jeff a punch to the chest while the boys were packing up. He'd joked that you had competition for the title of their number one fan. You'd not so politely reminded him that you were their first, number one, and sometimes only fan, and that if he ever disrespected you like that again, you might slip and tell Ms. Dunne the math teacher about the dream of his she'd starred in.

Looking back at Gareth, he gestured wildly.

"You have to do something!" He went as far as to grab you by the shoulders and shake. "You have to save him."

"First of all, you've been reading too many fantasy novels, Gar. You need to take a breath."

It made you laugh a little as you watched your friend visibly inhale, as if it was the first time in a while that he'd done so.

Looking back over your shoulder, you took a breath of your own, trying to come up with an idea. Though you weren't above violence, The Hideout wasn't the place for it. You didn't want Nick to have to get involved, and it'd be a pain in the ass for the boys to have to find a new place to play for five drunks each week.

If you were being honest, you didn't want to get involved either, but Eddie looked like a drowning man, and as his best friend, you were almost legally obligated to help him in this situation. He winced as Tiffany ran a blood red nail down his arm, and that was the final hit of courage you needed. You just hoped what you were about to do wasn't going to blow up in your face.

Steeling yourself with a few deep breaths, you gave Gareth's arm a final squeeze and turned to where Eddie was in She-Devil's clutches.

"Hey, handsome!" Eddie's head whipped towards you at the sound of your voice, his eyes wide.

Before you could second guess your actions, you pushed yourself up on your tiptoes, and grabbed Eddie's collar, pulling him close enough to press your lips to his own.

The kiss was quick, over before it had really begun, but Eddie's hand came up to circle your wrist, his rings cool against your heated skin. When his eyes opened, you widened your own, pleading silently with him to play along.

A scoff came from behind you, and you called on everything you'd learned in tenth grade drama class as you turned to face the She-Devil herself.

"Oh, hi! I hope I'm not interrupting. It's just so hard to keep my hands off this guy when he's in the same room." Before she could say anything, you looked back over your shoulder to Eddie, who was trying his hardest not to laugh. "Sorry I'm late, baby. Heather just kept talking about her boyfriend instead of helping me close up, when all I wanted to do was get here to see mine."

At the insinuation that Eddie was your boyfriend, two things happened. Eddie's arm snaked around your shoulders from behind, and Tiffany huffed loudly, before turning to stomp away towards the bar. Once she was out of earshot, you turned to face him, raising an eyebrow.

"Mission accomplished?"

Instead of saying anything, Eddie slid himself off the edge of the stage, coming to rest directly in front of you.

"You-you kissed me."

"I know, Eds. I was there. I'm sorry. I just couldn't think of anything else, and you looked like you needed help, and-"

"You wanna do it again?"

It was pointless to try stopping the blush that spread across your cheeks, so you buried your face into Eddie's chest, feeling the rumble of his laughter. Folding you into his arms, a calloused hand found a home on the sliver of skin at the base of your spine, making it very hard for you to think.

"My hero," he whispered into the crown of your head.

"Sorry I was late,"

Pulling back a little, he shook his head.

"Nah, you were right on time."