#no he was trying to get you to fess up but you scared him when you yelled so he’s trying to do this subtly

[quibble-auk]

Heh, part two for… idk what to call this. Jeopardy realizing that Dropmix isn’t a medic?

@thebrokenmechanicalpencil

They are so dysfunctional, don’t you love that?

It was a dreamless sleep, restful and deep. It was the kind that Dropmix favored, dreams were messy and too often unkind. He did not mind this sleep, even if there was a dull ache that simmered beneath it. But all good things must come to an end, eventually he would have to wake.

There was no sound at first—just static.

Then pain.

Dropmix’s systems surged violently online, sending a burst of error reports through his central processor. Internal sensors blinked red and orange, readings fluctuating wildly before stabilizing. Every joint ached—they always did, he reminded himself—vents clicked with slow, mechanical distress, and heat built low in his chest. His spark fluttered beneath layers of damaged plating and armor, thrumming softly.

His single optic flickered open.

The ceiling was pale, sterile, crisscrossed with soft lighting—medbay fixtures. Somewhere overhead, the gentle hum of fans spun in sync with a muffled, low tone: a proximity scanner, active. Watching.

He recognized this place.

The outpost medical bay. Home.

The realization didn’t bring relief. Only tension. The kind that coiled up inside his frame and refused to unwind. Dropmix shifted slightly, testing movement—instantly regretting it. Something in his abdomen sparked angrily in response, forcing a sharp vent from his back. His jaw tightened, blunt teeth grinding against each other as he tried to recall what exactly had happened to get him sprawled on his own medical berth.

If Jeopardy was safe.

A voice broke through the haze. Familiar. Tight with restrained panic.

"Dropmix? Hey—hey, you're awake."

Jeopardy.

He didn’t even need to look. He knew that voice. Always on the edge of uncertainty, but brave in ways that Dropmix still didn’t understand. Too soft. Too kind. And far, far too young.

The dark mech almost sighed in relief, the younger medic was safe, hopefully unharmed. Dropmix blinked once, yes—Jeopardy had a filtration system, a mask and the ability to seal off vents. The gas that had nearly fried his own systems didn’t affect the smaller mech, much to his relief.

He forced his head to the side. Jeopardy was seated beside the berth, leaning forward with his elbows braced on his knees, expression more nervous than usual. The younger mech’s optics flicked rapidly over Dropmix’s face, then his vitals, then back again. His plating was scuffed. Burnt in places. And he looked like he hadn’t recharged since the battle.

Dropmix tried to speak, but his vocalizer sparked—a choked rasp was all that escaped.

It sounded weak, pathetic, unfit for a mech of his standing. It grated against his plating, the sound was more insulting than he’d care to admit. He wasn’t supposed to sound like that, ever. Clawless fingers twitched against the berth, threatening to clench into a fist.

Jeopardy was up in a blink. Not frantic, but close. His hands hovered over the panel beside the berth before snapping back as if he didn't know whether to call someone, check something, or just sit still and breathe.

“Hey—don’t move. Don’t—uh—don’t try to talk yet? You’re still recovering.”

Still recovering.

Dropmix would’ve laughed if his throat weren’t filled with static. He settled for a slow blink instead, the kind he reserved for situations where sarcasm wasn’t worth the breath.

He turned his eye toward Jeopardy again, taking him in more clearly now. He had sat down again, closer this time. The younger mech's lines were tight with exhaustion. His shoulders slumped in the way they only did when he’d been locked in a chair for too long, refusing to leave a bedside. Hands clasped together again, thumb tapping on the other anxiously, an outlet for when Jeopardy needed to remain professional.

It was his tell.

That quiet, repetitive motion that said more than his voice ever could. Dropmix watched it for a long moment, as if studying it might anchor him better than the medbay lights, the hum of machines or the lull of distant music ever could.

Music. Because it was his medbay, he always played music. And now Jeopardy did.

Despite himself and the situation, warmth spread through his chest. Not the uncomfortable and suffocating kind that he had grown accustomed to, but tender. Pride perhaps, or simply just affection.

It didn’t linger long, not with the way that Jeopardy was staring at him.

He wanted to speak—to crack a joke, say something sardonic, ground them both—but his throat burned like slag, and his pride was already smoldering enough without piling on more humiliation.

Dropmix should have noticed the extra claps and the strange seams, he has seen Theremin use his mask once—long before they had ever declared each other Conjunx. It was his own fault, his own ignorance that had landed him in this situation. He didn’t know that medic’s had masks and filtration systems, he never got one installed.

But Jeopardy must know, considering how he had reacted when Dropmix had lied and said his mask was malfunctioning. Perhaps, Jeopardy had forgotten about it in the spur of the moment. Hopefully, he would not question—not that he ever dared to pry very far—about the older mechs faulty equipment.

Equipment that he did not have, nor did he know how to install.

Dropmix ex-vented, a shuddering rattle that Jeopardy instantly misread as pain. He half-rose, hands already moving toward the console again.

The older mech shook his head once—barely a twitch.

“I’m fine,” he rasped, voice raw but functional now.

Jeopardy stopped mid-motion, visibly relieved, but still watching him like he might fall apart at any second. His gaze was unsure, something hesitant lingered in his eyes, more than usual. His lip pressed into a thin line before he picked up a datapad from beside the berth.

“Right—uh,” the young medic paused, taking a moment to skim over whatever was on the pad, “The gas is some form of airborne corrosive, it attacks the connections between the processor and the rest of the frame. That’s why your shut down protocols were activated rather quickly. The rest is mostly surface level damage, scans indicate that your self repair should be able to handle most of it. Though, some vents and other particularly vulnerable parts may need to be replaced.”

Jeopardy’s voice was clinical, precise. He clung to procedure like it could protect them both from the weight of what wasn’t being said. Dropmix knew that tactic. He'd taught it to himself long before Jeopardy had ever stepped foot in this medbay.

The datapad clicked softly in the medic’s hands. Tap. Scroll. Tap again. Then a pause, Jeopardy didn’t look up, “Your malfunctioning contamination protocols and mask will be more difficult to tackle.”

Dropmix froze.

Not physically—he was too well-trained for that—but internally, every line of code that hadn't already been singed by the gas staggered under those quiet, carefully spoken words.

So he hadn’t forgotten.

Jeopardy didn’t say it like an accusation. He hadn’t ever said things like that as accusations, even when Dropmix probably deserved it. There was no edge in his voice, no scorn. Just soft awareness. That, somehow, was worse.

He kept his gaze level, unwilling to break eye contact, even as his spark stuttered once behind fractured armor. His optic narrowed slightly, focusing on Jeopardy’s strained expression—concern, uncertainty, fear. The young medic was afraid of something, and he had no idea of what. His condition wasn’t bad, they were both safe, no one else was around.

The only thing that could be causing the distress was the mask he had mentioned. The lie that the older mech had thrown together on the spot, the one that he would need to continue for both of their sakes. Dropmix prided himself in his ability to redirect and deceive, but that required understanding who he was dealing with and what.

Dropmix did not know anything about contamination protocols and medical masks. He was stumbling in the dark with a half functioning processor and everything to lose.

His vocalizer whirred, voice still raspy but controlled “It’s been awhile since I’ve had the need to activate the protocol.”

Jeopardy nodded slowly, still not looking at him. Something twisted in his expression though, his grip tightened on the datapad by a fraction, something like disappointment flickered through his eyes. His voice was clipped, more strained than before, “Yeah, that… I can believe that.”

The older mech felt the shift, subtle as a hairline fracture across reinforced plating. Not quite a challenge. Not quite trust. Just enough hesitation to sting. A quiet acceptance that wasn’t truly believed.

He forced his thrumming spark to settle, tamping down the sluggish hum of error messages flaring behind his eye. The line he’d given was thin, but he could still control the damage. Redirect. Divert. Control the room the way he always had—through certainty, posture, and tone.

Dropmix could make this more believable, he could be more convincing.

He let his gaze slide toward Jeopardy’s bowed frame, his own expression schooled into the same flat calm he used when delivering mission debriefs over the bodies of teammates they couldn’t save.

“The protocol was old,” he said, voice low, gravel rough. “Outdated. Not something I thought to update. We don’t go in the field that often, and contamination is the least of our worries right now.”

The datapad lowered further. Jeopardy’s eyes flicked up, guarded. Searching almost desperately. “You’re the chief medical officer,” the younger mech said softly. “You’ve been for a while.”

Dropmix huffed, a tired sound that passed for agreement. “Doesn’t mean I expected to be breathing toxins in a trench any time soon.”

He didn’t say it with bitterness. He said it like the truth—which to be fair, it was, he never planned on being gassed. Like something logical. Boring, even. Inconvenient at most.

Jeopardy studied him. Longer this time. Dropmix didn’t fidget under the weight of it. He couldn’t afford to. A lie was a structure—you built it straight, you didn’t lean into it, and you never left cracks to peek through. He couldn’t let himself falter now, he couldn’t lose what little he had.

Eventually, Jeopardy looked away.

Dropmix didn’t let himself relax.

“I can file a requisition,” Jeopardy said after a moment, quietly, disappointment lingering. “Get you a replacement unit. New mask. Updated protocol integration.”

“No.” It came out faster than he meant it to, sharper. Jeopardy’s shoulders tensed. Dropmix caught himself. Let the silence stretch, just enough.

“I’ll do it myself,” he said, calmer this time. “Once I’m cleared to stand.”

The datapad in Jeopardy’s hands clicked again—soft, mechanical. Tap. Tap. Scroll. It was a nervous habit, but Dropmix knew it was also a way of retreating without stepping away. Letting the topic bleed out without confrontation.

Jeopardy didn’t press. He never did.

When the young medic spoke again it was softer, more genuine than his attempt at control before. He nervously looked over at Dropmix, “You… you trust me, right?”

Dropmix’s spark skipped a beat.

He smiled softly, reassuringly, as warm as he could make it. He didn’t hesitate, he didn’t have to think much about his response. Despite everything, he could answer this question honestly, “Of course I do.”

The younger medic managed to smile, though Dropmix could see through it, he could see the way something fragile seemed to shatter. Dropmix felt it, the fragility that hung in the air, too delicate for words, too heavy for either of them to ignore.

He watched Jeopardy’s smile crack, ever so slightly, before the younger mech quickly masked it again—his expression smoothing into a mask of his own, trying to stay composed, as though he had never shown that little piece of himself to Dropmix at all.

It stung, that smile.

Not in the way he thought it would, not in the way that others might feel pain from a lie. It was sharper, like the slow drag of a blade across old metal—familiar, yet terrifying in its quiet intensity. Dropmix had said something wrong, somewhere he had messed up.

Jeopardy’s fingers tapped on the edge of the datapad a few times, following the beat of the music that gentle hummed in the background. It filled their silence, heavier than it usually was. The smaller mech looked at the contents of the datapad one more time before setting it down on the bedside table, in Dropmix’s reach this time.

His vocalizer clicked, “I uh… I need to go check on the other patients now.”

Dropmix nodded, though the gesture felt hollow. The hum of the medbay, the soft tick-tick of Jeopardy’s anxious habits, the barely-there music—everything felt distant, like he was on the verge of forgetting something important. He couldn’t place it, but that unfamiliar emptiness gnawed at him.

He hated not knowing what.

Jeopardy stood up slowly, shifting on his feet like he was unsure whether to leave or stay. The older mech knew this dance too well. Jeopardy was always hovering, always worried, but the way he moved now—like he was leaving something undone—made the silence feel more suffocating.

When Jeopardy finally moved toward the door, his hand hovering just above the control panel, he stopped. The door didn’t open.

He turned back to Dropmix, his optics dimmed slightly with fatigue, shoulders sagging even more than before.

"Dropmix..." Jeopardy’s voice cracked slightly, betraying the composure he had carefully crafted. He didn’t say anything more for a moment, just stood there, watching him like he was trying to make sense of the pieces of something broken.

His jaw tightened a fraction, gaze flicking back to the door as he finally pressed the panel, the mechanisms unlocked and he pushed open the door. He didn’t look back as he spoke this time, “Just… get me if you need anything.”

Dropmix remained still, his single optic tracking Jeopardy’s retreating form with careful, silent observation. He could feel the young medic’s anxiety lingering in the room, almost palpable—an uncomfortable tension that clung to the air between them like static. The door shut with a soft hiss, and suddenly, Dropmix was left alone again, the only sounds were the low hum of the medbay equipment and the distant thrumming of his music.

The door clicked quietly as it locked.

Jeopardy never locked the door to a patient's room unless he had a good reason, privacy was not one of them. If the outpost was under attack or if they had reason to believe the patient was aggressive—the door was locked. Otherwise it was an obstacle if something went awry.

For a long time, Dropmix didn’t move. He could feel the silence thickening in the room, pressing against his frame like the weight of all the things left unsaid. He didn’t know how long he’d been lying there, staring at the door Jeopardy had just walked through, pondering at what point he had managed to misstep in their interaction.

Why the door was locked.

His systems were still groggy, sluggish, with erratic surges of pain and malfunction, but that was nothing new. The gas had been an unfortunate surprise, but Dropmix had survived worse. He would recover.

The dark mech looked at the datapad on the bedside table, screen still dimly glowing. Whatever Jeopardy had left open was still visible. Screen up, exposed, almost inviting in the way it lay there, as if begging for Dropmix to read it. The dark mech grunted and pushed himself to sit more upright, eye focusing on the screen.

Something wasn’t right.

It wasn’t a medical diagnostic, or a patient file.

Dropmix’s systems whirred with a mix of curiosity and self-preservation. He shouldn’t probe too deeply—not now, not in this state—but he couldn’t help himself. His spark thrummed uncomfortably in his chest as he reached out for the datapad. His fingers, unsteady and stiff, carefully wrapped around the pad and pulled it closer to him.

It was a file, an informational article on a medical frame’s contamination mask and protocols. A brief informational packet on the inner working and purposes of the system, as well as a small section focused on possible malfunctions. That’s where the screen sat idly, focused on the few paragraphs that described potential errors.

The contamination mask and protocols were not a standard program, it was a form of transformation. Not quite like an additional alt mode, but a half morph, something that medical frames had their T-cogs specialized so they could perform. The only way for there to be a malfunction was if there was a physical obstruction that prevented the transformation or if the cog itself was malfunctioning.

Dropmix could see his error now, clear as day, painfully obvious. It clicked into place, why Jeopardy had been so confused when he didn’t deploy the mask, his insistence that it couldn’t have been a malfunction at first. Dropmix had used his alt mode earlier that day, his mask should have worked, he had just scared Jeopardy into not pressing further.

But Jeopardy was smart, smarter than Dropmix would ever be, even if the young mech didn’t believe it himself. This was proof of that, Jeopardy had beat Dropmix at his own game and he was letting him know. He had been fishing for an answer, trying to see how far Dropmix was willing to go to conceal his lie, and he had gotten exactly what he wanted.

Which meant that Jeopardy knew more than he was letting on. He knew that Dropmix was lying. The door had been locked because Jeopardy knew he was dangerous.

[wow-thisismylifeiguess]

Dick, visiting Bruce after he realizes the Blüdhaven Rogues are seemingly more scared of him then they used to be.

Dick, “Bruce, what did you do…?”

Bruce, completely oblivious to the effect he had on Dick’s reputation, “Nothing?”

Damian snitches on his Father and Bruce looks at him with betrayal.

Dick, still mad, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Why did you wear *my* suit? What's wrong with yours?!"

Bruce, "I didn't want Bludhaven thinking you left."

Bruce, “Gotham needs Batman and Blüdhaven needs Nightwing. If I showed up as Batman, it would be seen as me encroaching on your territory…again.”

They’ve had past conversations about Bruce patrolling Dick’s territory. Several times.

Dick, "So you put *my* suit on?! Where did you even get one big enough for you?! .........you already had it, didn't you?"

Bruce, having Bruce sized versions of all of his kid’s suits, “…no.”

Dick, “*Bruce.*”

Bruce, “For emergencies!”

Dick, "Bruce!"

Bruce, "It's logical! I have a Batsuit for you down in the cave!"

Dick, "You *what* now?!"

Bruce, “For *emergencies*, Dick!”

Dick, “WHAT KIND?!”

Dick, "Do you have a suit for Red Hood, too?!"

Bruce, "No, that would be ridiculous. Jason and I are the same size, I'd use his."

Dick, "How do you know you're the same size?"

Bruce, "..."

Dick, "...*did you already try his suit on?*"

Bruce, “I plead the fifth.”

Dick, “YOU DID! WHEN?!”

Bruce, “Oh, look at the time, I have…a meeting.”

Dick, "YEAH, A MEETING WITH ME."

Bruce, "Please do not yell, Richard."

Dick gasps, “Do not ‘Richard’ *me*, Bruce Thomas Wayne.”

Bruce, “You’re being childish.”

Dick, “And you’re avoiding the question.”

Bruce, “What question?”

Jason casually entering the manor at this point, hears from the point that Bruce has tried his suit on, just stands in the doorway waiting to be seen.

Alfred, outing his hiding spot, “Ah, Master Jason. Would you like some tea?”

Bruce and Dick whip around to look at him. Bruce actually looks stressed.

Bruce, “Hey, Jason…how long have you been there?”

Dick, “BRUCE HAS WORN YOUR SUIT!”

Jason, “…I know? It smelled like his cologne when I found it.”

Bruce, “You’re not…mad?”

Jason, “I didn’t say that.”

Jason, casually pulling out a hunting knife that he "absently" plays with, "Was wondering if he'd fess up. Guess not."

Bruce looks at Dick, “Help me. Please.”

Dick, “Nope. This is your mess. I’m out of here.”

Bruce, “DICK!”

Jason, leaning against the wall as he tosses his knife up, catches it easily, "Knew about that. Also know about how many times you've been in my apartment. Gotta stop wearing such strong cologne, B."

Bruce, “Jason…Jaybird. Jaylad.”

Jason, “I’m listening.”

Bruce, “…yeah. I have no excuse.”

Jason, sighing, sheathing the knife. "Stop trespassing already, would you?"

Bruce, “…okay.”

He intends to continue trespassing, he’s just going to be sneakier about it. And stop wearing that damn cologne.

[littlest-w01f]

Settled Down

Azriel x Reader

For @sjmxreaderweek

Sjmxreader 2025 Masterlist

Day 6 - Adventure/Home

Summary: The scariest spies the Night Court had ever had, you and your mate, brutal, sadistic and brought to your knees by the nonsensical babbling of your little twins.

Cw:

The brightly lit room reverberated with the eerie silence that always preceded your sessions. Your imposing figures, clad in a black blouse and skirt and adorned with menacing accessories, wings flared out dangerously as you looked down at your little troublemakers.

Your mate, notorious for his cold, calculating gaze, leaned against the ornate marble fireplace, arms crossed over his broad chest. His piercing hazel eyes bore into the tiny souls before him, as if searching for some hidden weakness to exploit. Beside him, you stood rigid, your jaw clenched.

The twins, oblivious to the danger their mommy and daddy posed, gurgled and cooed playfully. Keeping each other entertained by baby talk.

"Did you. Eat. The last piece of... The caramel fruit pudding?" You asked them, eyes narrowed on their hands dipped in said dessert.

"No mommy," They replied simultaneously, lie. A mischievous glint sparkled in the twins' eyes as they continued their innocent charade, sticky fingers leaving telltale smudges on their baby cheeks. Their laughter tinkled through the air like delicate crystal, a stark contrast to the ominous atmosphere surrounding their parents.

"Oh so you won't fess up?" Azriel came forward, his hands going in the pockets of his leathers, "Not even for this!?" He pulled out a tiny bat plushie, smiling innocently.

"Look who wants to play!" You cooed, as your mate waved the adorable plush toy enticingly in front of the giggling twins, little Rhys, as dubbed by the uncle who had bought them it. The babies squealed with delight, reaching out small hands to grasp the offered gift.

As they snuggled the soft bat, their smiles faltered slightly when Azriel's expression turned stern once more. "Now, let's try again, shall we? Who ate the pudding?"

The twins exchanged a nervous glance, then pointed accusingly at each other. "He did!" "No, she did!" They chorused, voices rising in pitch.

Azriel chuckled darkly, clearly amused by their antics. "Well well, looks like we have two little liars on our hands." He reached out and plucked the bat plushie from their grasp, tucking it away behind his back.

"You know the punishment for dishonesty around here," You added, voice low and warning. The twins' wide, fearful eyes darted between your imposing forms, realising too late the gravity of their actions.

With a sudden burst of speed, Azriel swooped down, kneeling in front of them, scared hands tickling their soft bodies. The twins shrieked in surprise and delight as Azriel's nimble fingers danced across their sensitive skin, sending shivers down their spines. Their initial fear melted away, replaced by giggles and squirms of enjoyment.

"Oh no you don't!" You scolded, striding over to pull Azriel off the floor by the collar of his shirt. He let out a surprised yelp as he was hauled upright, looking sheepish. "We're not letting you get them all distracted with cute tactics."

Azriel smirked, rubbing the back of his neck. "What, and miss out on the fun? It's hard to stay mad when they look this adorable."

"We're adorable mommy," Lisa, the younger twin, looked up at you with her wide eyes, bottom lip pulling out.

In response to her pout, you scooped up the little one, cradling her against your chest. Her weight was barely noticeable against your sturdy frame. You could feel the warmth radiating from her tiny body as she nuzzled into your neck, seeking comfort.

Lisa's brother, Rowan, wiggled free from Azriel's grasp and scampered over to join his sibling in your embrace. The pair clung to you like limpets, their faces pressed into your shoulder as they sucked in your comforting scent.

"Mmmph... Mommy," They murmured in unison, their breath hot against your skin. You stroked their soft hair, marvelling at how these miniatures of yourselves could evoke such strong emotions within you, babbling about how much they loved you, speaking in baby talk up at you, most of what you heard was 'Oo Aaa'.

"Aww, look at you three," Azriel cooed, smiling, watching you and your kids. "All attached at the hip."

You sat back down as your twins snuggled into you. In their young years, they had learned that if they softened up their mommy, they could get away with anything, "I scare everyone in a ten mile radius to me..."

"Yeah, well, you've got quite the reputation to uphold," He teased, his tone laced with affection. "Though I think it's safe to say those two have already stolen every heart in the house, including yours."

You couldn't help but smile at his words, the truth in them undeniable. Despite the intimidating aura you both projected, there was no denying the hold your children had over you. They were your world, your everything, and you would move mountains to keep them safe and happy.

"I suppose you're right," You conceded, gently rocking the twins in your lap. "They've managed to tame the big bad spies of Night Court pretty easily, haven't they?"

The twins, sensing the shift in mood, lifted their heads from your chest to grin up at you both. Their chubby cheeks dimpled adorably as they babbled excitedly about something only they understood.

"Still. There needs to be punishment." You said with a stern look, reaching into the pockets of your blouse, you pulled out the threatening weapon, and the twins yelped, standing on your thighs as they looked at the frightening item you had in your pocket all along, "Time for studying, fun over, kiddos."

Azriel chuckled, shaking his head in amusement as the twins' eyes widened in terror at the sight of the feared pencil, meant for school work, and given that they had just started school, earlier than most as Illyrians did, they hated it.

The twins nodded at their punishment vigorously, still clinging to you as they attempted to hide behind your neck from the dreaded writing utensil. You smiled indulgently, knowing full well their theatrics only served to heighten the anticipation and drama.

Azriel came to grab the twins to carry them to their tables for the impending lesson. As he lifted them from your lap, they clung to him desperately, burying their faces in his chest.

"Nooooo! We wanna stay wif mommy!" They wailed, kicking their legs in protest.

"Don't worry, little ones," Azriel soothed, carrying them to the study area. "Mommy will be right here, keeping a close eye on us while we learn."

Once settled at their respective desks, the twins pouted, crossing their arms and turning their backs to face you. Their postures exuded petulance, but the corners of their mouths twitched with suppressed smiles, betraying their true feelings.

You watched them get busy with their little booklets as you poured yourself a glass of wine, dropping down beside Azriel, "They're studying and happy. Oh, another day of great parenting."

Azriel chuckled, leaning back in his chair and draping an arm around your shoulders. "Indeed, a job well done. Though I think we should give ourselves extra credit for enduring their tantrums."

You rolled your eyes playfully, sipping your wine. "Easy for you to say, Mr. 'Distract Them with Cute Tactics' over there."

Azriel smirked, running a hand through his messy raven locks. "Hey, whatever works, right? Besides, it's not like we didn't earn those sweet, cuddly moments afterwards."

You couldn't argue with that logic, and a contented sigh escaped your lips as memories of the twins' earlier affection flooded your mind. Azriel squeezed your shoulder, sensing your relaxed state.

"So, now that the chaos has subsided, what do you say we indulge in some quality time together?" He suggested, his voice low and husky with promise. "Maybe cuddle a while, watch the stars, just the two of us?"

The prospect of unwinding and reconnecting with your partner after a long day of parenting appealed greatly to you. You set your wine glass aside and turned to face Azriel fully, a soft smile playing on your lips. "The only stars I want to watch are right there..." You whispered, turning your head to look at your kids studying. "Do... Do you think this is how Rhys' mother felt watching us...? I never thought myself as meternal."

Azriel's expression turned contemplative as he considered your question. He reached out to gently stroke your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your lower lip. "Rhys' mom was a remarkable female, lovely. Strong, fierce, yet incredibly nurturing and loving. I think she'd be proud to see the wonderful mother you've become."

"I wanna go stab someone..." You whispered, resting your head in his thighs, "I've gotten too mushy."

Azriel laughed softly, his warm hand caressing your hair as you nestled against him. "Don't worry, love. You can always go stabbing later. For now, let's just enjoy?"

With that, Azriel leaned down to capture your lips in a tender, lingering kiss. As you melted into his embrace, the worries of parenthood momentarily faded away, replaced by the comforting sensation of your mate's love and support.

As the kiss deepened, Azriel's free hand slid down to cup your chin, tilting your face upwards to meet his increasing passion. His tongue danced with yours, exploring the depths of your mouth with a hunger that matched the growing ache in your core.

Breaking the kiss, Azriel's heated gaze locked onto yours, his pupils dilated with desire. "You're incredible, you know that?" He breathed, his voice rough with emotion. "My queen, my everything."

You smiled up at him, your own eyes shining with adoration. "And you're mine," you whispered back, before capturing his lips once more in a searing kiss filled with years of love and longing. Lost in the intoxicating embrace, the world outside receded, leaving only the two of you entwined in your devotion.

{General taglist- @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-angst @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii @alwayshave-faith @velarisnightsky444 @minnieoo @mellowmusings @daughterofthemoons-stuff @tele86 @thelov3lybookworm @romanticatheartt @inkedinshadows}

{Week Taglist - @readinf @thorins-queen-of-erebor}

[quarterlifekitty]

The Gaz secret baby post was sooo delicious. He totally would go "oh fuck yeah a baby it’s baby time". You've infected my brain with this trope and the doctors are saying it's incurable 🤒 I keep thinking of Nikolai in this trope!

He's not made his attraction to you any secret – you dismiss any reciprocated feelings because it's just not realistic with both of your jobs. The task force finishes a gruelling but successful op with him, and everybody decides to let loose for a night. After a few many rounds of drinks… you inevitably fall into his bed.

Cut to 5 weeks later, you're staring at a positive test and wondering how long you can keep this a secret. You resolve to never let Nik know he's the dad. Someone who loves his job, disappearing for months… you decide it's best for your child to have at least one present parent and maybe you're scared of the rejection.

I’m so ashamed I haven’t done this trope for Nikolai!!! I love the idea of you trying actively to hide it— it’s not just a one night stand thing, you really know each other and you’re still trying to get away with it.

At first, when he sees the baby— he just assumes it can’t be his, because you would’ve told him, wouldn’t you? Surely you wouldn’t think he didn’t want anything to do with a perfect, chubby baby made from both you and him. So when he’s questioning, it’s about the timelines. He knows there wasn’t anything labeled between you— it was one night, he wasn’t your boyfriend, but the beast inside him still bares its teeth at the idea that you fucked someone right after he fucked you.

Price, for all that Nik is his best mate, promised to be your confidant as your captain, and he wouldn’t betray that. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t a messy bitch who will start making a whole load of implications. Some of them are pretty crude, too, because he’s trying to goad Nik into confronting you. Saying things like “You should dick ‘er down again soon, last time it settled her down like you wouldn’t believe.”

It makes Nik more and more sure that there wasn’t anyone else. You were never really the type. Which means the baby must be his, and for some reason, you don’t want him to know.

That makes his blood hot. The idea that you don’t want him to father his own baby. You’ve always been a bit bristly to him, and he’s never known exactly why— he was hoping to find out the morning after you fell into bed together, but you ran out first thing, and he was contracted in a job soon after.

So he hangs over you more than before, watching from a distance, the gears turning as he considers what the fuck to say to get you to fess up. He wants to hear you say it. He doesn’t want to just ask and have you confirm or deny.

It hurts that you don’t want to tell him. That you don’t feel it’s safe for him to know. That you’re trying to protect yourself and the cub from him knowing. And despite the support from your own squad— it can’t have been easy for you.

But he also doesn’t want to miss out on another second of fatherhood. There’s an impatient roiling in his gut about it. Seeing your fat little baby, his fat little baby, and not being able to wordlessly lift it from your arms and hold it close to his chest and kiss its head.

So he’s conflicted, to say the least.

[yanderenightmare]

head cannons for what being Gojo and Get's shared little captive housewife darling would be liked? ples

Gojo Satoru & Geto Suguru

TW: yandere, captive reader

gn reader

They’re both awfully cuddly. Always wrapping their lanky arms around your waist and slugging their bodies against you, tugging on you and swaying you against them in a way it’s hard to keep balance, making it impossible to do anything but stand there and try and hold your weight as well as theirs.

Satoru is the worst of the pair, though – constantly ignoring whatever you’re doing in favor of picking you up and cuddling you on the couch when he feels like it – which is almost always when he’s home. Not that you do much else but humor them. But still, it’s annoying being in the middle of a chapter only for the pages to flap close when Gojo picks the book out of your hands, throwing it aside unceremoniously – his blue eyes pleading at you like a puppy, feeling ignored and pouty – asking you to play with his hair instead. He’s already laying himself against your chest with a smile and giddy laugh before you can as much as try and refuse.

Suguru is more respectful of your hobbies in that aspect. He’s usually the one that procures books and such for you. Always happy to discuss your thoughts. But sometimes, you suspect he gives you tricky reads just for the chance to explain them to you. He’s a little patronizing that way. Smiling while prying for your thoughts, offering a soft chuckle when you fess up and tell him it was a little beyond your abilities. 

Satoru feels left out when the two of you talk about books. He doesn’t read. But just to feel included, he’ll dump a stack of his old comics in your lap. He’s such a spoiler, though, and will tell you the entire plot and ending before you’ve even peeled a page open. He’s more of a movies and shows person. Forever in his childish ways, he’ll dib a character to represent him whenever the three of you are watching something – getting real pouty if the character ends up dying, almost to the point he’s completely disinterested in the rest of the story.

Both are shit cooks with appetites beyond your understanding. You never make enough, and it always ends up with the both of them whining for seconds. They have a bit of a maid kink the two of them. Waiving a pretty little white ruffled apron at you whenever they’re hungry – insisting on helping you tie it around your waist and neck in pretty bows. It always makes you feel a bit ridiculous.

It doesn’t make it any better that when you cook, there’s always one of them supervising. Not helping out, mind you – just watching and waiting, licking their lips when it starts smelling good – asking for taste tests like children. Often with big hands draped over your stomach and a chin either resting in the nook of your neck or atop your head. 

Satoru’s chattier than Suguru, but Suguru is better at asking you about your things. He’s a little more considerate of your feelings, making sure you’re as comfortable as you can be locked inside all day. That being said, he’s the tougher one when it comes to saying no to things as well. For example, you’re better off testing your luck with Satoru if you want to go outside.

You feel, for Satoru, it’s not too much about protecting you. You don’t think the guy knows what fear feels like. It’s more about coveting you. He’s possessive, prone to jealousy, and easily enraged – you remember from when the three of you were a somewhat normal throuple with somewhat normal boundaries. For him, this arrangement is just a whole lot simpler, keeping you away from anything that might inspire him to feel anything he doesn’t like.

Whereas with Suguru, you’re sure he’s actually scared something might happen to you, and that’s why he insists on keeping you inside. You’re only just a small thing, after all, with no cursed energy to talk about. You might become a target for their enemies if they’re not careful enough. Out there, you’re the greatest weapon against them, their greatest weakness. And he fears for the world when he thinks about what he and Satoru would do if they lost you.

Neither of them seems to care that it’s unreasonable.

[thewritersaddictions]

Day Twenty-Nine: Karl Heisenberg + BreathPlay

You were constantly reaching out for Karl's hand. Enjoying the rough feeling of his cussed-covered fingers against your much softer hands.

Karl didn't seem to mind either after the initial shock that someone was touching him. Wantingly touching. You walked hand in hand to meet with the family and sat side by side. Pressed into his side, but continuously your fingers were interlocked.

Hand in hand when you walked around in town, and as much as Karl hated the idea of being around less intelligent people than him. He allowed you to drag him down to the middle of town and walk around the shops before returning to the factory after a long day out.

That was not the only time you wished that you could hold his touch. You yearned for a hand to run smoothly down your back and sometimes rest at the bottom of your spine. You longed for the soft touch of his rough hand.

You are the exact opposite of Karl. You yearn for the touch of another, and Karl yearns to not be touched. Karl is okay with his lonely life before you came along, and he's just as content with living it how it is now.

Yes, you are confused because when you look at Karl, you don't see just a friend, someone to talk to when the nights are quiet, and the factory is slow. No, Karl is something else for you. A bright light at the end of the tunnel. He's what you yearn for.

So when the touch you yearn for splits and turns into a need that you have to fill, something twists within your mind. You start to stare off more. Staring at Karl's hands as he works on bits of metal together, or how he tightness things together on a soldat.

The one that as you biting your tongue and squeezing your thigh together is when his hands stretch out, his metal hammer flying into his hand. It's attractive all on its own. The bludge of his veins, the girth of his fingers, it all has you in a haze.

"Y/n? Are you even paying attention to what I'm talking about?" Karl's booming voice pulls you from your naughty thoughts of his hands. "Huh." You say a bit too loud, and he rolls his eyes, "Earth to Y/n, what's got you being a space cadet today?" He asks, intrigued by your glazed-over eyes and gap mouth.

Karl has never seen you like this, and he's seen you in many ways. Blood smeared across your cheeks. A mixture of your own and others, your shirt half tore due to lycans desperately in need of stitches. Bare skin that makes his heart race every time he catches a glimpse. Y/n had been off, and Karl had taken notice. Take notice of how your gaze drifted from his face, down his arms, and then finally landed on his hands.

"I'm just… it's all fine." You say to Karl, trying to push away the fact that you not only got caught but also have no idea you were spacing out. His stare is deathly; you're an open book for him to read as much as he likes.

"No… I don't believe you. I think you were off dreaming…" You shake your head, trying to push him away from the right path he's already on. "Don't shake your head at me now, buttercup. Better if you just fess up to what you were thinkin' about." You feel like a deer in headlights. Wide-eyed and easily scared off.

The silence is unsettling, "Oh, buttercup, you want me to guess instead." Smirking up a storm, you think that's rather a good idea, and then it's a bad idea. But there's nothing else you can do. If you say the words, then it's all too real, but if he guesses it, then it means Karl already knows.

"I think…" He says, getting up from the side of the table, heavy boots on the ground beneath you. "you have been very naughty…" With each punch of the words that fall from his mouth, his hands graze up your back like you've always wished for. "thinkin' about me, and my hands." You breathe in quickly. If it's due to his touch or his words, you'll never know.

"I bet you've thought up a bunch of dirty things." He whispers into your ear. His voice was rough and scratchy. "I bet you would love it if I just wrapped my hand around your throat and kept you right on the edge all night long." You moan as you feel his hand reach the base of the back of your neck. "Let me just sink my fat cock into your tight pussy, hmm, squeeze your throat so you stars." You whimper as you clench your thighs tightly, willing the ache to go away.

Then just like that, Karl is gone, walking back over to his side of the table. You're left like a puppy following its owner. Shock is written all over your face. "Oh, what do you want more buttercup." He mutters as he walks off and towards the direction of the bedroom.

You follow like a lovesick puppy would.

Completed on: 08/20/23

Posted on: 10/28/23

Kinktober 23- @lanad3lreyscokewhor3 @homelanderscumdump @hummusxx@chvnsdimple @vvitzvafflezvv @lokisivy @claud-blood0703 @iliketoreads-stuff @all-that-glitters-is-treasure@clearscissorsbonkgiant-blog @lxonix--ac @piecesofx @mortallyswimmingpainter @playwithfire99 @fucak @everythingneytiri @lovetheos @xxxxxoseungxoooo @durazopato @hotpead42069 @oddseabiscuit @capoda @witching-hour @viviwows @lover103 @alexlovesfiction @katiecat10 @electricfans @jianasmind @max-505 @powerbun21o @the-horny-simp @missy420-0 @jaq-dav @arescosplays

Resident Evil Master List // House Heisenberg Master List // Kinktober '23

[batty4vamps]

19, Paul

First prompt request! This one kind of ran away with me, I hope you like it :)

19. “Is this mine?” “…no?” with Paul

Includes: gn reader, suggestiveness

Prompt List

Where the hell was that damn lighter?!

You’d let Paul borrow your zippo one time, and now it had suddenly disappeared into the aether.

As you ripped the pillows off the couch, you noticed something.. red. And lacy. In fact, this item seemed rather familiar to you.

You went absolutely red in the cheeks, slamming the cushion back down.

Marko and Dwayne turned to you, confused.

“What? Find one of those giant ass rats again?”

Marko would never forget the shriek you let out last time you found a gift from his pigeons. Laughing, he began to make his way over.

In a minute panic, you flopped down onto the couch, trying to play your mortification off.

“No- no, luckily, just a… just a weird stain. Probably blood.”

Marko arched an eyebrow, about to speak before being interrupted by Dwayne.

“I would think after this long living here, you would’ve gotten used to that”

The taller man crossed his arms. He was calling your bluff.

“I mean, usually it doesn’t bother me, but it was fresher than I was expecting. It’s fine, I’m just gonna sit for a minute.”

You sighed, maybe playing up the shock would convince them until they left.

Dwayne thought for a moment before smirking, going to question you some more.

“Fresh? We haven’t had anyone here in a while, right Marko?”

Marko smirked, understanding what they were doing now.

“Yeah, you’re right- no one but us, and you, have been down here since that scare with the sisters”

You winced a bit. In the boys defense, you hadn’t thought the ex nuns would have holy water on them either.

In any case, they knew you were lying. You could either fess up now, or commit to the bit, and there was no way in hell they were going to see your lingerie tonight.

“Huh- weird. Maybe it was the pigeons?”

Marko shook his head. You should’ve assumed he’d know his pigeon’s handiwork better than you.

“They leave bones, not just blood. Plus, they would smell. They don’t.”

“Not true.”

Dwayne chimed in. He was right, the pigeons definitely did smell. Maybe not like blood, but they weren’t fresh as a daisy either.

Before you could come up with another excuse, Dwayne stepped towards you.

“How about we just look at the stain?”

Marko nodded, following Dwayne. You planted your feet on the ground, hoping they wouldn’t be curious enough to lift you.

“No! I mean- it’s just a blood stain. Looks like the usual ones you guys leave behind. I really don’t wanna stand yet, okay?”

Still suspicious, but perhaps feeling slight pity for your human constitution, they stilled.

“Okay, so it’s just a normal blood stain. Where did it come from?”

Dwayne asked, unconvinced. Marko sighed, taking the seat in the couch next to you.

“It definitely wasn’t us- I’m starving.”

You shrugged before having a frankly fabulous idea. If there was one thing you knew could distract the boys, it was turning them on each other.

“You mean it wasn’t you two. That still leaves 2 blood suckers unaccounted for.”

Now you had their attention.

“We hunt together, you know that.”

Dwayne crossed his arms, looking to Marko for a response. Marko was still turned to you, brows furrowed.

“Why the hell would David or Paul bring a snack down here without us?”

“Paul’s too loud, it was definitely David. Maybe he didn’t want to share? You know how he is”

Even now, you made sure your boyfriend wasn’t involved in your bullshit. How romantic.

The boys remained silent for a moment. They knew you were messing with them, but they also couldn’t help wanting to check, just in case. After looking between you and each other, Dwayne sighed.

“Fine. We’ll talk to David.”

With the look on his face it read more like *fine, we’ll leave you alone*

Marko had already gotten up and started making his way to the mouth of the cave, shouting as he left.

“But you know when we get back you’re gonna have to tell us, and him, what you actually found-”

Soon Dwayne followed, less hurried, clearly not eager to confront David.

You let out a deep breath

After a moment of mortification, and checking no one was there, you snatched the underwear from under the cushion.

Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, you made your way deeper into the cave. As you had almost navigated to your (frightfully unhelpful) boyfriend’s cove, you came face to face with the man himself.

“Hey hot stuff- where’ve you been-“

Paul’s hands immediately met your waist, pulling you flush with him. You were rigid, not having any of it.

“Turn around”

“Huh?”

“Your room, now”

You glared at him, keeping the garment in your closed fist as you hurried him back in the direction he came.

He put his hands up, walking back to the room and flopping onto his own couch.

“What’s up your ass today? And why isn’t it me?”

You finally let the underwear out of your fist, it spilling into a line of red lace.

“Are these mine?”

Paul smiled seeing the lingerie, lost in recollection for a moment before looking back to your face. His smile then dropped quite quickly.

He sensed he should chose his words carefully.

“Uh… no?”

You gave him an unamused look, crossing you arms.

“Oh? Whose are they then?”

He shrugged, leaning back on the couch.

“I don’t fuckin know, probably some poor chick Dwayne boned-“

“No one’s been down here besides us since the sister incident”

Paul made a face. He had been in the splash zone, it wasn’t a pretty picture.

“Okay, okay, fine, they’re yours, but.. hey, wait a minute, why the guess-my-underwear game anyway? Not my fault you leave ‘em here”

He smirked. It absolutely was his fault. You hated that you wanted to smile, you were supposed to be mad at him!

“I leave them here, in this room, not between the couch cushions in the damn living room-“

Paul burst out laughing.

“Holy shit- did Marko find ‘em? You ain’t ever living that one down, huh?”

You rolled your eyes. His inability to take anything serious was truly his best and worst quality.

“No, but I had to sic him and Dwayne on David so they didn’t see me grab them.”

You tossed the underwear into a pile of clothes and sat down on the couch with Paul, swinging your legs up onto his lap.

“Uh oh- you know that’s gonna come back on you, right?”

You sighed, nodding. David would know you’d been messing with them the moment the boys starting yapping. They’d be even more intent on knowing what you’d found when they checked the cushion and saw nothing.

“Well it was that, or show your brothers my underwear-“

He was struck by a second burst of laughter. He was enjoying every minute of this.

“Paul! Cmon- stop laughing and tell me why these were in the living room, please-”

Paul shook his head, almost unable to breathe with laughter as he patted your leg.

“You. You put them there.”

You glared again. You knew two things for certain about this scenario. 1. These were yours, and 2. You did not put them in the couch.

“I absolutely did not”

He put a hand over his heart in mock offense and frowned dramatically.

“Aww really? I remember you saying it was “the best Valentine’s Day ever”- but I guess after a night like that I can forgive it being a little blurry for you”

You stared at him in confusion for a moment before once again going well and truly red.

Valentine’s Day. You and Paul’s first as a couple. He’d managed to kick the rest of the boys out of the cave for the night, making it up all romantic. He’d even cooked a candle lit dinner… that he’d promptly forgot about seeing the present you’d prepared for him.

You slid the dark red lace down your thighs, stuffing them to your side with an eagerness.

“Hey- I like those, don’t lose ‘em”

You’d laughed at Paul’s attachment, too excited to care about the fate of the underwear in the moment.

“Oh god! It was me-“

Paul nodded before descending into a fit of giggles once again. Seeing the look on your red face, he couldn’t help it. After a moment of stewing in embarrassment, you joined him.

“I can’t believe I forgot- thank god no one found them in the last month-“

He pulled you in his lap by the legs, shaking his head as he managed to catch his breath.

“I’m just happy to have those back- they made your ass look incredible-“

You blushed further, leaning back and pulling him over you as you sighed.

“You always think my ass looks incredible”

Paul smirked, a palm moving to grab your butt as he leaned over you. You recognized the look on his face.

“Duh… you think the guys are gonna be out for long?”

You smiled back up at him, your laughter becoming contained under his gaze.

“Long enough”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

End Game 5

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, stalking, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your gaming buddy asks to meet up but it doesn’t go exactly as planned.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: 😘

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

There’s another tap on the window. You shake your head, ignoring it. Go away, go away, go away. Another comes, this one louder and you turn, ready to shout at him to leave you alone. Why is he there? Why is he bothering you? 

You spin and stop short. A little boy smiles from just over the little ledge and his dad stands behind him, his hand hovering at the window. You blink and move forward to slide open the glass. As you do, you peer around, searching for the bearded man in his button-up. He’s gone. You think. You hope. 

“Sorry, I was cleaning,” your voice tremors before it evens out, “how can I help you?” 

“What do you want, kiddo?” The man puts his hands on his son’s shoulders, “rocky road?” 

“I want choccy!” The kid demands. 

“Double chocolate or chocolate chip or chocolate brownie?” You prompt, smiling as your eyes continue to rove around, waiting for any glimpse of that man. 

“Double,” his dad answers for him, “I’ll have a scoop of praline and cream.” 

“Sounds great? Bowl or cone?” 

“Sugar cones are fine,” the man replies as he takes out his wallet. 

You go through the transaction on habit alone. The man seems slightly agitated by your twitchiness but still drops a tip in the jar. You thank him and lean out the window to see along the side of the booth. Is he gone? Really gone? 

You can’t shake his shadow. You just can’t believe he would show up like that, then act so casually. Like you’re old friends. You chatted for one year and you didn’t even know who he really was. That’s not a friendship, that’s just strange. 

You don’t close the window. You’re already nervous about having it closed for so long. Your manager takes complaints very seriously and you can’t exactly afford to drop one job when you’re considering a second. 

You check the time. Right. A couple hours. You can make it through. If you see him again, maybe you’ll call the cops. Won’t that be funny to explain? Maybe he could use the humiliation of fessing up to his betrayal. 

You don’t feel better about the back-up plan but at least you have one. Sort of. It all depends on if they even believe you. 

The after-dinner crowd begins to burgeon and you find yourself forgetting the unwanted customer for a whole line of new ones. You scoop and scrape and dish out the flavours with a faulty smile. When you’re through the rush, the tip jar is close to full. At least you had a fruitful night. 

You hope that the locals scared Andy away. Or your reaction. You don’t think he came all that way expecting that. Surely, he wouldn’t bother if he thought you were just going to turn him away. Yet why would he expect anything else? 

You really don’t understand. 

As your shift comes to an end, you’re anxious to lock up. Leaving is another matter. You can’t help but look over your shoulder as you twist the key from outside. You turn your back to the wall and wearily wade through the dark. You won’t be caught off guard again. 

You take a different route than usual. You don’t know why but it seems like a clever idea. You keep in the sheen of the street lights. You keep your phone in your hand just in case. You remember all those precautionary safety presentations they had on campus about walking home alone. 

You let out a sigh as you reach your street. Your grandmother’s house sits nestled behind the overgrown walnut tree. You feel safer in sight of it.  

You slow as you sense something off. There’s a car you don’t recognise. An SUV that doesn’t fit in the neighbourhood. He wouldn’t be there. Then you think of the flowers. He knows where you live. 

Your name makes you yipe as a shadow emerges from the silver vehicle. Your feet tangle and you stumble. Keep going or go back. Either way won’t be an escape. You stop and face him wide-eyed. 

“Please, leave me alone,” you beg. 

“Honey, please, I’m not here to do anything but apologise,” Andy strides across the street and you can’t help but shy away. “Won’t you just hear me out?” 

“No, I told you--” 

“And I sat and listened. Don’t you think you owe me the same courtesy?” He insists. 

“But-- I already told you, Andy, what you did--” 

“I know what I did,” he breathes, “I think about it constantly. Every second of every minute of every day. I think of you and I can’t get you out of my head because I know it was wrong. I can’t stand that I hurt you so bad. You don’t deserve that. After everything you’ve gone through--” 

“I only told you those things because I thought you were someone else,” you hiss, “I can’t... I can’t forget the lies. I can’t move on, alright? And honestly, I don’t think we have much in common. We’re in different places.” 

“That didn’t matter before. We got along--” 

“Because you--- you were pretending to be a teenager,” you bluster, “how old are you? Can’t you see how insane this all is?” 

He winces and his jaw ticks. In the glint of the streetlight, his eyes sockets are dark pools and his broad shoulders seem even wider, his figure even taller. You lean back on your heel and sway, looking towards you grandmother’s house. 

“It’s not... I never meant to hurt you.” 

“You did,” you shrug, “Andy, I don’t know you and you don’t know me. We were just gaming, shooting the shit, that’s whatever. The best thing you can do is get help. Talk to someone.” 

“I want to talk to you,” he says. 

“A professional,” you insist, “I’m nineteen. I can’t help you.” 

“But you did,” he snips. 

“Not how you need to be helped, okay? I’m asking you to stop. Go. It’s over. It never really was. I was friends with Jacob, not Andy. You chose that.” 

He hangs his head and heaves. You stand in silence. Slowly, you sidestep and flinch as he mirrors you. He reaches for you and you back away from him. He retracts and pushes his fingers through his hair. 

“Sorry, sorry, I just...” he croaks, “honey,” that word, again, “if I get help, will you talk to me? If I go, get some pills or something, will you just give me a chance?” 

You huff and shake your head, “Andy, there’s lots of people online you can game with. People your own age. Maybe you should try the discord--” 

“No, not them. You.” 

“Andy,” you plead, “I’m... no. No. You can’t do this. You can’t just show up and make me listen. You can’t send me flowers and come to my work and force me to be your friend. Alright? That’s not... healthy.” 

“I wanna be better. For you. That’s what I’m telling you,” he steps closer until you’re against the prickly hedges. “I wanna do everything for you. I can make your life so much better. Honey, don’t you want that? Don’t you want someone who wants you? For once?” 

You’re quiet, stunned by the insinuation, of the truth in it. 

“That’s cruel,” you whisper. 

“I don’t mean—not like that. I only, I’m trying to show you what I can give you--” 

“I don’t want anything from you,” you sniffle, “or anything to do with you. Can’t you get that through your head?” 

He staggers back as if he’s been struck. He shakes his head and stammers, “what-- why? Why not?” 

You blink, long and hard. How many times do you need to repeat yourself? You roll your eyes and turn on your heel. You brace yourself for him to follow but he doesn’t. 

His shadow looms just along the edge of your peripheral and as you turn into your grandma’s yard, you glance back. He watches you but stays where he is. He just stands there. You shiver and raise your phone, lighting up the screen, hoping he gets the idea. You could call the police. 

He takes a step back then pivots sharply. He crosses the street back to the SUV and the door slams behind him. You jump in your shoes and quickly scramble up the walkway to your grandma’s front door. You’re hoping that’s the last time you have to tell him to go away. Next time, you might just have to be mean about it. 

🎮

You try to sleep. It comes in shallow spurts that leave you more and more tired. You don’t have a shift, thank god, but you’re also not so grateful to be left without distraction. You give in to futility as the sun peers in between your curtains and you groan at the dull weight in your temples. 

You creep out quietly to make a coffee. Just instant powder so the machine doesn’t wake your grandma. You go back to your room and sit in a groggy daze, waking yourself with the warmth of each sip. You sigh out and hang your head. 

There was enough to figure out a week ago. Now, you don’t know how many problems you truly have. You’re not so certain last night got the point across, especially after the first two times didn’t work. Third time’s the charm, right? Besides, how much effort are you really worth? 

You can’t just sit still. Your eyes keep itching to look at your Switch, a now cursed item in your collection. You finish the coffee and change out of your pajamas into a pair of sweats and faded tee. You’ll catch up on some chores, keep yourself busy and grandma happy. Besides, you’re not brave enough to venture outside just yet. 

You grab your head phone and pop them over your ears and search through your phone for your cleaning playlist. You’ll start with the living room. Give it a sweep and a mop, wait until grandma’s up to do the vacuuming. Dishes next and the kitchen. Scour the fridge for the forgot produce in the back and take out the trash. You have more than enough to do. 

You wipe off the end tables then the coffee table, sorting the clutter and clearing the trash. You dust the television and the shelves of knickknacks and the ornamental fireplace against the wall. No matter what you do, there’s always a slightly dingy smell to the place. 

When the living room is decent, you move into the kitchen. You turn up your music and drown out the house around you. Dishes, floors, cupboards, cobwebs... You feel the effort in your muscles as you stretch out the kinks from your pitiful sleep. 

You’re entirely obliviously to the existence of others until your grandmother appears with a scowl, pinching your arm as she glowers in her house robe. You glance at the time. You’ve been at it for a few hours. You pull your headphones off your ears and pause your music with a tap of the button on the cord. 

“Oh, morning, do you want some coffee?” You offer. 

She’s unimpressed by your efforts as she crosses her arms. It is kind of early for her to be up. Her nostrils flare as she sniffs. 

“You better make a full pot for your visitor,” she sneers. 

You blink at her and scoff, not understanding her, “visitor?” 

Her eyes are narrowed and her lip curls, “the one who’s been pounding on my door while you’ve been listening to your racket.” She jabs an ear of your headphones, “damn woke me up.” 

“I don’t... who?” 

“Says you knew his son. The dead one,” she shakes her head, “sad, I suppose.” 

You stare at her. You hear movement in the front room, just on the other side of that wall. You glance through the archway and see a shadow shift. She’s not lying. How else would she know? 

“What did he tell you?” You breathe. 

“More than you, eh,” she snaps, “what are you doing gaping at me like a fish, I need a damn coffee. Too early for this nonsense. A dead kid, some stranger in my front room... what trouble are you getting into?” 

“N-nothing, grandma, I don’t... get him out of here. I don’t know him--” 

“He knows you. Knows your name. Says you and his boy were at school together. ‘Splains the flowers, I guess. Condolences, not that you cared, did ya?” She shakes her head, “you always were off in your own little world. Well, I’m not doin’ your dirty work for ya. You ain’t gonna be your mother if I can help it so you want him gone, you tell him you didn’t give a damn about that dead one.” 

You frown. You don’t understand why she’s so callous. She’s never shown any concern about anything but her books. It’s not your fault your parents didn’t want you. Or that she doesn’t either. You only ever begged for her attention, for a sliver of her approval. 

You blow out between your lips. You won’t argue. There’s no use in it. Besides, it’s a small house, you know he heard all that, that he knows you’re on your own. Maybe that’s why he came all this way. Because he knows you have nothing. 

[authorred]

To Ruin a Friendship | Caleb x fem!Reader | Love and Deepspace | NSFW

➺ Preface: Caleb doesn't know when he first started liking you. He knows you're dense, he knows being a Hunter is the most important thing to you right now. But when an opportunity comes for him to demonstrate his affection for you, will he take it? And will you reciprocate?

➺ Icl Caleb has grown on me idk why--the thought of childhood friends to lovers whilst one has been constantly pining over the other one is just MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM GGHEUIHGAHEUGHEAGUIAHREUIG

➺ This draft was made before Caleb's story had progressed--and icl I haven't kept up with the stories. I want to do one when Caleb has his bionic arm and shit TEEHEE :)))

Caleb knows you’re stupid. Not in a foolish way, but a dense way. Perhaps it’s his fault for hiding his feelings, but he never thought he did a good job at it. Especially since Josephine had questioned him before. He didn’t know how to reply to make it seem lesser than it was, so he just fessed up. Surprisingly, Josephine was rather understanding. But now he struggles with an internal conflict, the age-old: ‘Do I tell them and ruin our friendship, or go to the grave with this?’ He knows you’re away for long intervals at a time, and that your hunter work is important. Being in aviation himself, he understands. But still—what if? What if?

On the rare days that you and he are home at the same time (which is very rare) he wants to fess up—to tell you, but he's scared. Terrified. He knows Josephine won't tell you, but he can't help the anxiety that curls in his stomach every time she talks to you. He wants to get you alone, though. Somewhere private. Beautiful—just to talk. To get out at least a little bit of what he's feeling.

And his opportunity comes when you want to go out for a walk, he's eager to join you. Like you guys used to do when you were younger—go out for hour long walks, just talking and hanging out—sitting out on the playground in silence, sometimes you would yap, not always. He missed those times.

As you two walk down the sidewalk, Caleb is close on your heel as he always is, teasing you, bumping his hip into yours, and laughing when you stumble or try to kick him in the shin. It's not until you both sit on a bench in the park that his playful nature seems to subdue itself, crawling back into the recesses of his anxious mind. He grows quiet, almost pensive, lost in thought. Staring off into the distance.

You tilt your head when you see him spacing out, brows furrowing softly. He often does this—it usually doesn't bother you when he does it, but something about this time felt different. "What?" You ask, crossing your arms and shifting back on the bench, crossing your ankles together. "You look like you're thinking, and you never think."

That manages to draw out a small chuckle, his shoulders bouncing. "Sure, Pipsqueak," he replies, turning his head to look at you, eyes shining in affection and something else. Fondness, perhaps? "I'm just thinking about some things."

You move your foot to nudge his, noticing the smidge of hesitation in his voice, the way he doesn't quite meet your eyes. "Like what?" You inquire softly. "Is it about your studies?"

Caleb is silent for a long moment, his gaze somewhere between the distant playground and somewhere in space. You don't know if he's actually seeing anything—or if he even heard you. "I know you're leaving tonight to get back to the Hunter's Association, but. . . if I asked you to stay tonight, to leave tomorrow morning instead, would you?" He finally looks at you again, eyes soft, almost vulnerable. His voice is so meek, so low, like he's scared of the answer that he thinks he might get.

You blink, not knowing what you expected, but it certainly was not that. "I. . . don't know," you answer honestly. "I'd have to leave very early in the morning—Captain Jenna expects me."

Something passes over Caleb's face—a shadow of displeasure, something darker, lurking beneath his vulnerable experience. "I see. Of course, Captain Jenna works you Hunters like dogs. Can't even sleep in for one day." He chuckles to lighten the mood but it's tense, fragile. Like one more rejection will send him over the edge. "I guess it's expected. You're a big, strong Hunter. People will rely on you now."

You don't respond, eyes taking in every single movement of his body, every micro-expression of his. The way his jaw is slightly more tense, how his fingers shift and pinch at his pant fabric. "Yeah," is all you say, a measly response to his obvious discontentment. "She can be tough. I can't exactly go against her orders."

"Yeah," he parrots, his fingers twisting and worrying the fabric of his pants, even as his face remains carefully neutral. "I get it. The superiors at the DAA are tough too. Strict, and all."

There's a moment of silence, a beat of slightly uncomfortable quietness. You glance over at him, brows furrowed slightly. A small part of you is worried he's mad. You don't get to spend much time with him anymore, and you understand his want for closeness, to feel even a smidge of your childhood again when all you would do was stick together, anywhere, anytime. You feel like you should say something, but you don't know what to say. If you should even try.

After a minute or two of silence, Caleb lets out a slow, deep sigh through his nose, like he's releasing all of the negative feelings in one go. "We should probably get back," he says. "So you can get your stuff before you head to the station."

You nod. "Yeah," you reply, not really that eager to get up from the bench. "We should." You slowly stand from the bench, taking a moment to stretch out your limbs from sitting for so long, and Caleb follows suit.

The walk home is quiet, and Caleb seems to hover ever so slightly closer to you on the way back. As you walk, your phone buzzes in your pocket, of which you fish it out and wake it up. A text flashes across your screen, one from Zayne, asking you to come try a pastry shop when you're back.

Caleb doesn't say anything as he leans slightly to look at the text, and you don't pull away. "Zayne, huh?" He mutters, his expression looking a bit less than amused at seeing your doctor-friend texting you when you're with him. "You gonna go?"

You shut your phone off and slide it back into your pocket, glancing up at him. "Probably," you reply. "It's not often he gets enough time to relax, and I think he needs it."

"I see." He looks straight and continues to walk, ignoring the burning spiral of heat settling deep in his gut at the thought. "I hope you and him have fun. Let me know how the pastries are if you find time between."

You can hear something in his tone which makes you slow your pace, gazing up at him with a small frown. "Caleb," you say. "What's wrong?"

He stops walking himself, cutting a look over his shoulder to smile at you, reassuring, but it doesn't do much. "I'm fine, Pipsqueak. I'm glad you have people to support you while you're off doing your Hunter duties." He reaches out to ruffle your hair, uncaring of the way you try to swat his hand away. "I'm just proud of you, that's all. Even if I do miss when we spent all day together."

"Is that what's wrong?" You ask. "You miss that? Us?"

Caleb shifts on his feet, like he wants to say something, but he can't. Or won't. "Don't you?" Is how he deflects, glancing down at you. "How we used to run all over the place, no responsibilities, no fears, no cares? Don't you want to go back to that, even sometimes?"

You gaze at him, brows furrowing slightly. "You're deflecting," you respond. "Stop deflecting. Say what you actually want to."

Another beat of silence passes. Caleb shifts, eyes averting to the side, far more interested in staring listlessly at the sidewalk than at you. "Don't worry about it, Pipsqueak. It's not important."

"I'm going to kill you."

"We both know you can't."

[bellysoupset]

Thunderstorm

"Are you even listening to me?" Sophia asked, pouting, pacing the living room.

It was a gloomy Thursday night and Vince was sitting on his parents' couch, with Livia fast asleep against his arm. He had volunteered to play babysitter, despite the fact Soph would be home, simply because being all alone in his house with his thoughts didn't seem like a good idea.

"Uh?"

"Are you listening to me?" She repeated, and Liv stirred slightly.

"Uhm, yeah, yeah-" Vince lied, moving his arm so he could scoop up the seven year old, "I'm going to put Liv to bed and get going."

"Oh my God, you were not!" Sophia cried out, following him as he picked up Livia and started to walk up the stairs, "I was asking you to help me find an affordable bike or car-"

"Ah," Vince nodded, blushing and pushing Livia's door open with his arm, "sure, bambi, whatever you want-"

"Urgh, forget it. I'll ask babbo."

"Babbo doesn't know a damn thing about cars," Vince rolled his eyes, gesturing for Soph to pull up the blankets of the bed, "I'll help, I just-" he leaned in, planting Livia on top of the mattress and tucking her in, "It's just been a bad week, Soph."

There was a beat of silence, surprisingly so, and when he turned around his sister was glaring at him in a concerned manner, hands planted on her hips.

"You never told me what happened," she said, squinting at him and following Vince out of the room, turning on Livia's night light on her way out, "do I need to kick Wendy's ass?"

Vince let out a surprised chuckle, "what? No, Wen and I are fine, we're great. She's clearing her closet so I'll have any space to put my clothes," he snorted at the thought, "you might actually wanna text her, she's getting rid of a lot of stuff you might like."

"Ah, okay," Sophia was still squinting at him, following him like an annoying chihuahua as they walked down the stairs, "are you gonna fess up? You've been so weird, like weirder than the usual, lately."

"Thanks," Vince rolled his eyes, walking into the kitchen and starting the coffee machine as he filled up a mug, "Luke- Luke and I had a fight..."

Sophia leaned against the kitchen island, arms crossed to her chest and she raised her eyebrows, "you and Luke? You guys don't fight..."

"Well, apparently now we do," Vince looked away from her, unable to meet his sister's judgmental gaze as he continued to say, "we had a fight that weekend he was over, uhm- Almost two months ago, now? The one he got sick with my bug...?"

"I remember that, yeah, when he came for dinner," he could hear the impatience in her voice.

"Yeah, and- And the argument sort of escalated and he accused me of cheating on Wendy-" Vince heard a hiss, Sophia's whole spine straightening up like a snake's ready to attack, "and I told him I'd end our friendship if he ever said that again... And ever since I thought we were fine, but I don't think- We are not. He-" his voice caught in the knot in his throat and Vince wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans, "he basically told me he doesn't think we're friends anymore, I-" Vince interrupted himself, jaw locking in place, unable to keep going.

There was a beat of heavy silence, then Sophia took a step closer, so she could get a good look at his face since he was still stubbornly looking at the kitchen sink.

"Vin," she was frowning at him, brows almost meeting and the corners of her mouth pulled down, "what the fuck? That's not a fight, that's- You haven't talked with him since?"

He shook his head, feeling incredibly self conscious as Sophia studied him with a displeased frown, "he was really sick during the Superbowl and so was I... Then I had to come back for work and I-" he shrugged, trying to mask the fact he had simply been scared. He was fucking terrified of calling Luke since or going back to Welton and finding out Lucas meant every word when he was talking about them being friends in the past tense.

"You're supposed to be smart, no?" Sophia scoffed, pursing her lips, "the guy tells you you're no longer friends and you leave? And don't talk after? Do you even care?"

It felt like being slapped across the face and Vince jumped, startled, "of course I care, I love him like my brother!" Vince exclaimed, offended, and his sister simply shrugged, unbothered by his tone.

"Really?" She raised a skeptical brow, blue eyes sparkling, "if it was me telling you're cheating on Wendy, you'd cut relations with me?"

Vince scoffed, glaring at her and rolling his eyes, "I can't cut relations with you, Sophia," he wrinkled his nose, "but it'd be fucking rude of you to say that, so yeah, I'd be pissed-"

"But you wouldn't cut relations with me over it," Soph shrugged, unbothered and sounding a little smug. Then her face softened as a thought occurred her, shoulders dropping and smile wavering, "you do know its okay to like... Not want to be friends anymore? I'm just sayi-"

"No," Vince shook his head vehemently, "that's the opposite of what I want. Hell, I'm moving back because I miss him, this has to count for something, right?"

"What did Luke say when you told him?" Sophia asked, stealing the coffee mug Vince had forgotten about. She busied herself with blowing the smoke off its top and taking a sip, before frowning as she looked up and met her brother's guilt gaze, "you didn't tell him?"

Vin bit down his lip, "like I said, we were both sick and then he- He told me we're no longer friends and I just... I couldn't-"

"So you haven't talked with him since, you didn't tell him you're moving back- What did you do? Because you're telling me he's your best friend and, really, I was more mindful towards the cheer bitches than you are being right now."

"Don't call your friends that," Vince berated her automatically, only for his sister to roll her eyes at him.

"That's my point, they're not my friends, they're the girls from the cheer team," Sophia shrugged, "anyway, I think you fucked it."

Vince's stomach rolled at the words. He knew Soph was dramatic and only 18 and she wasn't particularly good dealing with people... But she wasn't telling him anything he didn't already think.

"Fuck-" outside the kitchen window, he saw the headlights of his parent's car as they entered the garage, "I have to go."

"Okay..." Sophia planted her mug back down, then took a tentative, hesitant step closer and Vince raised his eyebrows as she wrapped her arms around him, awkwardly so.

"What are you doing?" He asked, as she pulled him into a makeshift hug. Sophia let out a long suffering sigh, the top of her head brushing his chin.

"Hugging you...?"

He wrapped his arms around her, properly pulling her closer and immediately felt Soph trying to pull back.

"Okay, that's enough," she shoved his arm just as their parents entered the house, whispering between themselves.

"Is everything okay?" Ma asked as she caught the hug just as they pulled apart, "Sophia?"

Vince snorted at that, avoiding his mother's eyes since she could always read him like a book, "I have to go," he circled his sister, hugging his parents goodbye, "I'm hitting the road tomorrow early morning."

"I thought you weren't going over this weekend..." Ma pouted, as she followed him to the garage, where his bike was parked. Vin shrugged, putting his helmet on and getting on top of the vehicle.

"Changed my mind," he said in a nonchalant way, although he was feeling anything but. Sophia's words were swirling in his mind, what had he done besides running away? To reassure Luke of their friendship?

----------

"Jonah's right," Luke declared, as he grabbed his wallet and his jacket, causing Bella to look up from the couch where she had been putting together an old radio she thrift shopped.

"There's a sentence I don't hear every day," she teased him lightly, "uh- Where are you going?"

"Vince's," his whole face was tingling. It was only two days since Jon had asked him to be his best man, a week since the whole Superbowl fiasco and Lucas had slowly but surely arrived at the conclusion that he'd apologize and do whatever it took, but he was not going to end his friendship with Vince.

"It's 7 PM, Luke," Bella frowned at him, "you'll arrive at 11, I don't want you on the road so late..."

"I can't sit here, Bell," he paced the living room nervously, "It's driving me insane, I need to talk with him."

"In the morning-"

"No, tonight," it was overdue, as far as he was concerned. He shook his head stubbornly, trying to make it clear this was not a fight Bella could win. She probably arrived to the same conclusion, because her blue eyes got a frustrated glint to them.

"Okay..." She sighed, "call me as soon as you get there, please?"

"Will do," Luke pressed a kiss to her forehead, clicking at his car keys, "I'll be back for lunch tomorrow," he promised, "I love you."

"I love you too, don't let Vin puppy eye his way into things," Bella warned him, walking to the door so she could see him off, "Lucas."

"I won't," he swore, then cringed as he felt the cold breeze cut through his jacket, almost causing the front door to close on Bell's face. His wife looked unusually displeased by the gloomy weather, probably because he was about to drive for four hours.

Bella had a point about him letting Vin win any argument as soon as he pulled out his puppy eyes and there was a small, vindictive part of him that thought he was being stupid by driving over. Vince had messed up and he was the one who should be apologizing, not Luke, he genuinely believed that-

Except he didn't. End of the day, it didn't matter who was in the wrong, it didn't matter the heartbreak or anything else. He wanted Vince in his life, so pride be damned, he was going to apologize if that's what it took.

The rain started halfway through his drive there, a heavy thunderstorm with lightning bolts painting the pitch dark sky fluorescent blue for a split second. Luke's head started to throb, due to the flickering lights, and he groaned, rubbing at them with one hand, while killing the radio that had just turned into static.

Outside of Vince's place, a streetlamp had stopped working, so Luke couldn't see much as he opened the car and rushed through the rain to his best friend's porch, hammering on the door.

"Vince!? VIN!" he was drenched wet and shaking from the cold as the wind howled, so maybe his knocks were harder than they should've been and for a second Luke worried about being rude, only to realize that Vince wasn't even home.

Great.

He shuddered as the wind picked up. His phone was inside his car and he could rush over there to grab it and call Vin, maybe crank up the heater, but he was so worried he'd call Vince only to learn that he was out with Max. It felt pathetic, to be this jealous, but Vin hadn't bothered to talk with him since the Superbowl and Luke couldn't do much about the way his thoughts were whirling, making up scenarios...

There was the flicker of yellow of Vince's bike as he turned the corner of his street and then parked before the house.

Either he had headphones on or Luke's voice was too low, because as he said "Vince!" a thunder swallowed it up and his friend continued to march forward to the porch, nearly trampling him over. He shook Vin's arm and the other man whirled around, startled.

"JESUS CHRIST!" He yelled, nearly jumping out of his skin, "LUKE!?"

"YEAH!" Luke yelled over the thunder and Vince did nothing to his insecurity as he frowned instead of smiling, giving Lucas a once over and then pulling him inside the house, shutting the storm outside.

"What are- Shit, for how long have you been out there? Why didn't you call me?!" Vince asked, buzzing around the house so he could grab a towel in the bathroom and throwing it on top of Luke's head. Lucas was shivering, teeth chattering, face all pale and raindrops running down from his dark hair, glued down to his head.

"Fi-figured yo-you'd be here soon," Luke mumbled, drying his hair and stripping off his soaked jacket, "I'm sorry, I just wanted to talk with you-"

"God, don't apologize," Vince interrupted him, harshly, and Luke's mouth snapped closed. Okay, so maybe he had underestimated how messed up things were...?

But then Vince continued, "I was going over tomorrow, I also think we should talk…"

Suddenly he couldn't breathe. Anxiety causing his stomach to freeze over, fingers stopping as he clutched the towel and mumbled a little pathetic, "Ah..."

Vince was done with him. All he had feared from the second Vin announced he was moving to Doveport came crashing down. The little nagging voice that bothered him as he was the only one who visited, as Vince brought Max everything, as the distance drifted apart... Vince had been trying to let him down gently, but Luke had made it impossible and now he was there, freezing to the bone, shivering violently, and Vin was going to spell it out for him.

He couldn't breathe.

Luke stumbled back, shaking his head, "no, don't- Don't say that-" he mumbled through numb lips, a harsh gag wrecking through him and little colorful dots appearing in his vision.

"Luke?"

He wheezed instead of answering, then reached behind him blindly until he found the door handle and pulled at it, so he could stumble back outside in the middle of a storm to retch on Vince's front lawn.

The world tilted and he lost his footing on the slippery porch, sinking to his knees, only for Vin to stop him from fully falling.

"Geez," Vince sank to his knees behind him, rubbing a hand up and down Luke's back, "you're okay buddy, I got you. Get it up."

Lucas didn't need anymore incentive. The blood was still singing in his ears and he was struggling to hear Vin through the noise, his whole body pulsing as panic clawed at him, making it harder to breath. His stomach rolled again and all the coffee he had chugged since morning came rushing up, exploding past his lips in one big bitter gush and splattering on the grass.

He sucked in air, raspy as if he had been drowning, and coughed, spitting the ropey saliva accumulating in his mouth. The storm raged on, more rain splashed on his face, caused Vince's curls to whirl around his face.

"Are you sick?!" Vince's hand, the one not on his back but holding him by the bicep, moved so he could cup Luke's forehead, pushing back his sweaty waves, "you don't have a fever, you're freezing!"

"Not-not sick..." Luke gasped, doubting Vince could hear him over the storm, before retching once more. It was unproductive, but didn't stop his stomach from contracting several times more. He tugged on the neckline of his shirt, feeling like it was suffocating him, "can't breathe."

"Shit," Vince's voice sounded like it was coming from underwater and Luke clawed at his neck, wanting to crawl out of his skin. It was not an unfamiliar feeling, the thousand little needles prickling his face and neck, the way his head was spinning and the fact his thoughts were running in circles. Vince's gonna leave me.

"Luke, Luke, hey-" Vince patted his cheek, forcing their eyes to meet and Lucas blinked quickly to get rid of the blurriness in his sight, only to realize those were tears as they ran down his cheeks to meet Vin's fingers, burning hot tears instead of the freezing raindrops, "deep breath through your nose, c'mon-" Vince mimicked a deep breath, nostrils flaring and Lucas took a second to imitate him.

"Now hold it," Vin held out his free hand, the one not cupping Luke's sick covered chin, counting from 1 to 5, "out through your mouth, slowly..."

He pushed Luke back, so his back was resting against the front door and they weren't getting slowly bathed by the rain.

The air was shaky as it made it past his lips, catching in the back of his throat as Luke let out a sob. His thoughts were scrambled, eyes still searching Vince's face for some sort of silent communication. He was making a mess out of himself-

"LUKE," Vince shook him, like a rattle toy, as he started hyperventilating again, "look at me-"

"You-you," he tried to articulate, then was interrupted by a gag. Vince frowned, his dark brows meeting in one angry caterpillar, brown eyes meeting Luke's.

"I?"

"Please don't- Don't leave," Luke choked out and the tears he had been holding back, or thought he was holding back given the ones that had already escaped, came bursting forward. It wasn't cute, it was gross sobs and snot running down his nose and his whole face swollen up as he clutched Vin's shirt like a boy, fist so tight the knuckles turned white.

"Shit," Vince tried to pull back, then melted into the hug, embracing Luke completely, "what the fuck, Luke, I'm not leaving..." Luke hadn't felt physically small ever since he was sixteen, but now he felt like a little kid as Vin's arms wrapped around him into a tight hug.

It seemed like it took forever, but was probably just about six to eight minutes, for the sobs to taper off and his breathing to calm down. The shame that took up the space of panic was just as claustrophobic and overwhelming. Luke pulled back from the hug, against his wishes, and wiped at his face. He had made a mess out of Vince's porch and out of his apology. Hell, out of all of this...

"You haven't had a panic attack in years," Vince pointed out, knee bumping with Luke's as he moved to sit facing ahead to the street, so they were side by side on the step that separated his little kitchenette from the street.

"Not true," Luke's voice was scratchy and he forced out a shuddering breath, "had one back in the waiting room when Bell had a miscarriage... But they lessened since I figured out the medicine situation, yeah."

"The medicine situation," Vince parroted and Luke flinched, twisting his hands. How large was the rift between them, really? He had told Vince about being on antidepressants, but only way after the Big Depressive Episode A.K.A Christmas had happened. He hadn't wanted Vin to think it had been his fault, because it wasn't.

"Yeah, uhm- The first meds they put me on made me super nauseated, so I stopped taking them, then I went back..." he pulled on his neckline again, averted his eyes away from the puddle of coffee being absorbed by the grass, "it's not a big deal."

"Uh-hu," Vince scoffed, rubbing his stubble, "but you're on meds now and you had a panic attack," he turned to look at Lucas, his eyes piercing the side of his face, "I'm sorry I said I-"

Luke interrupted him with a nod, ducking his chin to his chest and blowing out a little burp as his stomach churned uneasily, "yeah, I know-"

"Shut up for a second," Vince scoffed, turning so he was properly looking at him, "look at me."

Bossy, Luke thought, but obeyed. Vince's chocolate brown eyes were huge in his face, worry clouding them, "I was angry and I wanted you to hurt," he admitted, quietly, "and you were being a jerk, accusing me of cheating or like I could ever-"

"Vin-"

"-But I shouldn't have said that," Vince ignored him, speaking louder and over Luke's weak attempt to interrupt, "I knew it was going to hurt you and I said it because of it, but I shouldn't have. I didn't- I didn't realize the rift between us was so severe and I took for granted the amount of work you were putting into our friendship and I was dismissive about Max-"

"I was a jealous prick-"

"Please, let me finish," Vince glared at him, voice all thick and choked out as if there was a knot in his throat and that caused Luke to feel a stab to his chest. It was one thing to feel rejected and abandoned, so insecure in their relationship that it felt like it was easier to blow it all up, it was another thing to see Vin hurting this much. Lucas felt like an asshole for being so dramatic that they were now in this situation... "I'm sorry I said what I said," Vin mumbled, his chin wobbling, "I need you to believe me, I didn't mean it like that. I could never end our friendship, I- Fuck, Luke, I was a jerk, but this past week has been hell on Earth, I don't want us not to be friends anymore, I don't want us not to talk, I miss you-"

"Please stop," Luke all but whimpered, "I did this, I insulted you and I was jealous about Max like a fucking toddler in the playground and I- I shut you out. I blew this out of proportion and it was because I didn't want us to stop being friends and-"

"I'm moving back to Welton," Vince blurted out, interrupting his speech.

Lucas' mouth snapped closed, eyebrows jumping up and disappearing into the rain soaked chocolate waves falling over his forehead, "what?"

"I'm moving back," Vin repeated, suddenly sounding unsure and hesitant, "I- Just so you know, I decided it before we- fuck, was it even a fight? Or just us falling apart?"

Yeah, no. Luke shook his head vehemently at the idea of them falling apart, the tight grip in his chest returning.

Vince let out a heavy sigh, "I miss you," he said in a whisper, before repeating himself, louder, "I miss you, and everyone else and- And I will miss my family, Luke, so much, you have no idea how much-"

He didn't, not even remotely.

"But you're my family too," Vince finished his sentence and Luke's head snapped up, heart hiccupping in his chest, "all of you. I mean, of course I miss my girlfriend like hell, but I miss you and Bell and Leo and Jonah and my town... And you-you told me, if I stayed in Welton for Wendy, if I didn't take a chance at what I thought I wanted, I'd resent her... Well, I resent myself here, I resent not being a part of the group and I resent the distance between us and that I wasn't there for you and that you ever doubted our friendship..."

"But in Welton you're going to miss your family..." Luke argued, weakly, just because he felt like it was the proper thing to be done, when in reality he was almost dizzy with relief and selfish happiness at Vince's confession. The worm eating away at his sanity was squished under Vin's decision, the fear that the relationship wasn't reciprocal, that he was giving so much of himself to someone who was going to abandon it at the flick of a hand like his parents had.

"I know," Vince nodded, "and I'll visit, I'll visit a lot... But I can't stay here just because I'm afraid they'll have their own lives without me, instead of living my actual life, Luke. Welton is my life, you are, all of you."

It was like suddenly he could breathe.

Luke slumped to the side, giving up any pretense at control or nonchalance, collapsing fully against Vin's arm and smiling as his best friend let out a squeak and scrambled to grab him.

There was a loud thunder, a lightning bolt illuminating the whole yard.

"Don't pass out on me!"

"I'm not," Luke sighed, turning his head so he could press his nose to Vin's bicep, breathing in and out deeply, "I should not be this happy you're coming back."

"I'd be fucking wounded if you weren't," Vince scoffed, shaking with a surprised chuckle and moving so he could wrap an arm around Luke's shoulder, personal space be damned, "...Are we- are we good?"

"Yeah," Luke nodded, then turned his head up, so he could look at Vin, "are we? Are you still pissed at me?"

"Jesus, Luke, I wasn't mad at you even for a minute after I said that..." Vince sounded frustrated, "please tell me you get it, I hate feeling like we're speaking different languages. It drives me crazy."

Luke let out a huff, nodding, "we're good..." then he pulled back, a big smile on, "you told Wen you're moving back yet? Does anyone know?"

"Wendy does, of course. She's over the moon," Vince grinned, shoulders dropping as their normal dynamic creeped back in, "I told my family this past week and..." he hesitated, but Luke caught on it like a shark.

"And Max too."

Vince blushed, furiously, "and Max too," he agreed, "I just- I like the guy, it felt unfair to up and leave without explaining why I'm going... Like what I did with you guys. Can't keep repeating the same mistakes, right?"

"Right," he nodded in agreement, although Lucas thought that was horrible timing on Vin's part to start acting all mature, "how did he react?"

Vince shrugged, "he seemed fine," he sighed, thumping Luke's back, "let's go back inside and you can tell me everything else I missed."

Easy like that, they were back in synchrony.

[chrysc0rn3r]

Moon Knight Sad Headcanons

CW: anxiety, mentions of child abuse, su!c!de, hypersexuality as a coping mechanism

a/n: This shit is dark. Be careful, and if you need to take a break, please do! This is definitely us projecting onto a set of characters we relate to.

Jake Lockley

When they fully formed DID, Jake split off along with Steven. While Steven formed to stay happy and have the childhood the system deserved, Jake formed to handle the brunt of the abuse. Jake fronted for every hit, every slap, every injury. He is in constant fight or flight mode because he holds every feeling involving those times. He allows Marc to remember some of the memories, but only the easier to handle ones. Jake remembers the full story, and knows that if he tells Marc everything, they won't be okay ever again.

Marc had moments in their early teens where he thought he'd never escape. Marc would give up, and Jake would front to prevent him from going through with it. He'd put everything away, clean up, and allow Steven to front so they could cheer up. Steven always thought it was weird he'd have moments where he was so incredibly sad he could barely breathe (along with the fact that he woke up with cuts on his arms and legs), and Marc always took it as a sign that Steven somehow knew when they were struggling and wanted to protect Marc in his own way. They never knew that Jake was keeping them alive, and they will never know. Jake doesn't have it in him to fess up, considering it'd let them know of his true purpose.

Jake has really bad anxiety. He picks at scabs, his lips, and scratches his arms until they nearly bleed. Since he holds everything bad that happened, sometimes he gets so incredibly scared they'll wake up one day, back at their mother's house, back in the worst moment of their lives. He's never wanted to inflicting harm on the body on purpose, since hurting the system goes directly against his purpose, but sometimes he thinks about it.

He has a soft spot for animals and children. Despite being a violent man, he'd never lay his hands on a child nor animal. When he gets angry, he sits down where ever he can, and watches videos of cute cats. Of course, he hides this from Marc and Steven, convinced they don't need to know about his coping mechanisms.

The only reason Jake is violent is because he's stuck in constant flashbacks. Every time he fights enemies, it's just him trying to do what the system couldn't do as a child. Every punch, every kick, every stab, is just him letting out what he wanted to so long ago, but couldn't because it'd just put them in more danger.

Jake is hypersexual to cope with the severity of the abuse they experienced, often drowning himself in fantasies that involve him turning the pain the system went through into something manageable and enjoyable. Despite this, he'd never hurt his partner too badly, and makes sure they're okay with everything he does.

Gatekeeper!Jake Lockley supremacy

Steven Grant

Because Steven formed to be happy, he has a hard time relating to Marc and Jake after he finds out about them. They hold so much pain, and he's just the part that keeps everything positive. He often has breakdowns thinking that all of his positive memories are false, created by their brain to keep him unaware of the truth. No matter what Jake and Marc try to do, they can't stop the flow of his thoughts, forever overthinking the reality of his memories.

Despite being happy most of the time, he has extreme social anxiety, especially around older women. He was always scared he'd say something wrong and they'd become hostile. He wasn't aware of why until Marc and Jake let him remember parts of their childhood. Since he was allowed to remember, he's started seeing a therapist, and hopes he can overcome the fear and anxiety that wraps around his stomach every time he sees a woman older than him.

Has dissociative episodes where, even though he's fronting, he goes through the day feeling like he's he's just watching someone else take care of things. It happens after particularly scary fights, or long times away from his safe space (his apartment). Despite this happening, he always snaps back into reality and cleans up at the end of the day.

He doesn't remember most fights, Jake often preventing him from remembering and cutting off his access to those memories, even though Steven fronted for some of those things. Since he knows about Jake now, he'll get into fights with him about it, saying he deserves to know and remember. Jake never listens.

He'll go through periods where he neglects his responsibilities as Host, sometimes forgetting to eat, clean, and take showers. During these times, Marc has to step up as Co-Host and keep themselves from drowning in depression.

Connecting to the last headcanon, Steven never forgets about Gus II, and always puts his little buddy's needs first, even when he feels like the world is crumbling around him. He talks to him and feeds him every day, cleans his tank and does water changes every week, and buys more decorations for the tank whenever they have the money.

He never forgets how much Marc and Jake have done for him, and often feels bad for doing 'nothing' in return. Sometimes, he'll lash out over this, having rare moments of anger and shame. In these moments, he feels so incredibly angry that the others 'baby' him, and says things he'll definitely regret. He always apologizes afterwards, but sometimes he'll notice the lingering glances from Marc in his direction that shows how badly Steven hurt him with his words.

Steven doesn't like being alone in front, he feels like the voices of Marc and Jake help guide him through the daily battles they go through. Now that they're all open and communicating, Steven can't get enough of their presence. He finally feels less alone, and he won't let them take breaks. Marc thinks it's nice, to be able to talk to Steven and get to know his opinions on certain things. Jake, on the other hand, thinks it's annoying. He hates being in front all day, since seeing people walking around makes him feel worse than when he's alone.

ANP!Steven supremacy

Marc Spector

Marc fully believes he fronted for the abuse, even though he doesn't remember all of it. He thinks that it's just him forgetting certain things, and refuses to believe any of the other alters fronted for those things. He feels like it was his responsibility, and if Jake told him the truth, he'd most likely have a breakdown about it.

Marc has issues with physical affection. He refuses to allow people to touch him unless they're close. When Steven gets a partner, Marc refuses to front around them, scared they'll mistake Marc for Steven and give him a hug. Despite all this, Marc craves human affection. He wants so badly to feel comfortable in someone's arms, but he knows that'll never happen. At least, he thinks it won't.

Leaning into that last headcanon. Sometimes, when Marc has flashbacks, he'll hold onto a pillow and pretend it's someone, anyone, holding him. If Steven has a partner at this point, he'll imagine it's them and then immediately feel guilty about it afterwards. After all, they're not his, and they never will be.

While Steven and Jake hold happiness and anger, Marc holds guilt. He remembers some of the abuse, and fully believes it to be his fault. He refuses to blame his mother, and since Randall's death was, in his eyes, completely his fault, everything else has to be as well, doesn't it?

Maybe it's just his need for someone to trust, but at the beginning of him working with Khonshu, he felt like the god was his dad, his savior, his protector. Any time there was an issue, he reached out to Kohnshu. One time, Marc accidentally called Khonshu 'dad' and he never got over it.

Sometimes, when Steven gets excited about something, Marc will remember Randall and freak out. He sees Randall in Steven so much, and it hurts to know that Randall isn't here anymore, even if he lives on in their heart.

Feeling vulnerable is Marc's least favorite thing. Someone seeing him, understanding him, and offering him comfort? Absolutely not. Jail. He's running in the opposite direction even if he wants to stay put.

Persecutor!Marc Spector my beloved

-

Thank you so much for reading! This is my first headcanon post EVER, so please tell me if you want more, your opinions on these headcanons, and if I should keep posting!

[mariacallous]

Sharing this because of interest and not because of agreement

Chris Murphy, the junior senator from Connecticut, hardly exudes the energy on the stump of the leading populist progressives in his party, Bernie Sanders and Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez. He is preternaturally calm, and, when he says that his “hair is on fire” about the Trump Administration’s destruction of public norms and the rule of law, it is not initially convincing. And yet, in recent months, Murphy has tirelessly argued—on television, on TikTok, on The New Yorker Radio Hour—that unless the Democratic Party broadens its coalition with a primarily populist economic message and takes risks to oppose the destruction of democratic institutions, it will fail to mobilize popular support, continue to lose elections, and squander (as in Hungary, Turkey, and beyond) democracy itself.

Murphy, who is fifty-one, was a wunderkind, winning election to the House at thirty-three and to the Senate before his fortieth birthday. He argues not only that Donald Trump and the MAGA movement are threatening myriad institutions and making them bow to executive power but that the midterm elections of 2026 might be rendered undemocratic through the erosion of the infrastructure necessary for opposition to exist. And Trump, or a member of his family, may well be in position to take the White House two years later. Our conversation has been edited for length and clarity.

Senator, I wonder if we could try to define the crisis that we’re in. I’m of the opinion that the Trump Administration is intent on creating an American-style authoritarian situation. Do you agree with me?

I do. Long ago, the Republican Party decided that they cared more about power than they did democracy. That’s what January 6th was all about—regardless of who won the election, they wanted to make sure that their person was in charge. They believe, and have long believed, that the Democratic Party progressives are an existential threat to the country, and thus any means justifies the end—which is making sure that a Democrat never again wins a national election. So, this seems pretty purposeful and transparent—this decision to rig the rules of democracy so that you still hold elections, but the minority party, the opposition party, is rendered just weak enough, and the rules are tilted toward the majority party just enough, so that Donald Trump and Republicans and the Trump family rule forever. And, of course, this is not an unfamiliar system. This is Hungary, this is Turkey, this is Serbia. There are plenty of countries, all around the world, that hold elections—it’s just that one party continues to win. And that is, I think, the very concrete, very transparent plan that Trump and his White House are implementing right now.

Why do your Republican colleagues put up with this? Do they fess up to it when you talk to them in private?

They do not fess up to the plan behind closed doors. They are living in a self-created delusion. Most of them will tell you that it’s not as bad as you think. Yes, Donald Trump is acting in a way that previous Presidents have not, but we will still have a free and fair election; what he’s doing is not enough to topple essential democratic norms.

They are, of course, also deeply scared of him. They have worked very hard to become United States senators. You’ve sacrificed a lot to get to this point, and you don’t want to stop being a United States senator once you’ve gotten here. And for Republicans, the only thing that keeps you a United States senator is staying on Donald Trump’s good side.

I have to ask you why. Is the job so great—is being called “senator” by young staffers so great—if you have to give up and cede your principles?

Of course not. Of course not. And maybe this interacts with the third thing Republicans will tell you, which is, “Hey, listen, I’m trying to make this better.” Republicans in the mold of John Thune—and I’m not saying that he personally has said this to me, but people in his mold will say, “Well, if I cross Donald Trump, I’ll get replaced by somebody infinitely worse. And I can try to work behind the scenes to make this better.”

So, what’s the difference at this point?

Well, I’m telling you how they rationalize it. I’m not defending it. Of course, it is all treachery to lie down with Donald Trump, who is actively trying to destroy our democracy.

And then the majority of Republicans in Congress are fully on board with the idea that the rules should be rigged so that Democrats never rule again. There is just an exhaustion with democracy among a lot of Republicans.

This has only been going on for a couple of months—the Administration began January 20th, and it’s quite different from the first term. How bad is this, and where is it going, in your estimation?

I mean, it can be true that some of the orthodoxy of the left put us in the position of being unelectable. It is also true that the bureaucracy inside the federal government, the state governments, and local governments has become so big and cumbersome as to make it impossible to get things done in this country. But that is not mutually exclusive with the belief that we have months—not a year—before our democracy is rendered so damaged that it can’t be repaired.

I do think that over the last four years, those surrounding Donald Trump put together a pretty thoughtful plan to destroy democracy and the rule of law, and you are seeing it being implemented. Just in the last week—and you and others have covered this well—the assault has been trained on academia, institutions of higher education, and the legal community, the biggest law firms in this country. In democracy after democracy, those two institutions—higher education and the legal profession—are, in many ways, the foundation that undergirds the rule of law. Those are the places where people think about the rule of law, protect it, warn when it is being undermined. The legal profession is the place where people contest efforts to try to destroy the rule of law. And so it is not coincidental that Trump is trying to force both higher education and the legal profession to capitulate to him, and to commit, often through very explicit bilateral agreements—for the most important institutions—to essentially quelling protest.

And, of course, what the Administration is doing by taking on these very high-profile institutions is sending a warning to other law firms and to other colleges: if you take us on—if you file lawsuits against the Administration, if you support Democrats, if you allow for campus-wide protests against our priorities—you’ll be next. And so what will happen here—what inevitably happens in every democracy in which this tactic is tried—is that the Administration won’t have to go after every institution or every firm, because most of them will just decide in advance to stay out of the way. When students are filing a petition for a massive protest against a Trump Administration policy, they may just find it much harder to be able to exercise free speech on campus.

This is how democracy dies. Everybody just gets scared. You make a few examples, and everyone else just decides to comply.

That brings us to the real crux of our conversation today—the Democratic Party. What is the Democratic Party going to do about it? Every indicator that I see, in terms of public-opinion polls, shows widespread dissatisfaction with the Democratic Party. What are the Democrats going to do in a concerted way in the Senate and the House?

First, I do think there is a vast overestimation of the power that Democrats have. We are in the minority in the House and the Senate. We don’t have the Presidency. There are some people out there who think we should just be able to stop this. And the fact of the matter is that we don’t have an army, and thus we are relying on public mobilization and the courts.

Second, I do think that there’s an element out there that doesn’t actually want to have the really hard conversation about why we lost. I mean, people knew who this guy was. He said he was going to be a dictator on Day One. He told you he was going to pardon the January 6th protesters. He still won.

People thought he was fooling around.

Nah. I mean, that might be true, but I don’t know that that’s the whole story. I think we’re a pretty broken brand right now, and some of the people on the left don’t want to go through that hard rewrite of what the Democratic Party stands for.

What’s at the core of the brokenness, if we can be specific?

Well, we have become the status-quo party, and so we have reverted to defending democracy instead of explaining how we are going to break it down and reform it. We have not been a pugilistically populist party, where we name the people who have power and we build very easy-to-understand solutions about how to transfer power to people who don’t have it. And then we’re a pretty judgmental party, filled with a dozen litmus tests. We don’t let you in unless you agree with us on everything, kind of—from gender rights to reproductive rights to gun control to climate.

We’ve got to be a party that invites people in as long as they agree with us on the basic economic message, and build our party with a little bit more acceptance of people who have diverging views on social and cultural issues.

How would that conversation and that process come about, among the Democrats?

Well, I think first is making the decision that economics is the tentpole. And populist economics. That means that you are going to have a party that, frankly, sounds a little bit more like Bernie Sanders or Elizabeth Warren. You are talking about billionaires and corporate power. You are proposing really easy-to-understand ideas on how to shift that power—whether it be a cap on rent increases, or a massive increase in the minimum wage, or the regulation of every single drug price, not just the ten highest-priced drugs. And then it is just making that decision to go out and ask people to come into the coalition who might not be with us on issues that I care about, like guns, and to nominate candidates that signal that the Party is a big tent—people who are populist economically, but may not line up with us on all the social and cultural stuff.

Can you explain the split we’re seeing between Democratic senior leadership and more junior members of the Party?

I don’t know that it really breaks down along generational lines, but I can explain what the basic argument is right now. Is this a normal moment, where you can just keep on punching Donald Trump, and pushing down his approval ratings, and eventually win the 2026 election, and set up a potential win in 2028? Or is there a pretty good chance that we’re not going to have a free election in 2026?

You believe that’s a possibility?

A hundred per cent. Every single day, I think the chances are growing that we will not have a free and fair election in 2026.

What does that look like?

It may not even be that the mechanics of the election are rigged. I’m not suggesting that there will be election officials out there stuffing ballots. What I’m talking about is that the opposition—the infrastructure necessary for an opposition to win—will have been destroyed. No lawyers will represent us. They will take down ActBlue, which is our primary means of raising small-dollar contributions. They will threaten activists with violence, so no one will show up to our rallies and to our door-knock events. This is what happens in lots of democracies around the world; the opposition is just kept so weak that they can’t win. That’s what I worry about being the landscape as we approach 2026. And, if you believe that, then everything you do right now has to be in service of stopping that kind of weakening or destruction of democracy.

So, to me, the essential difference in the Party right now is that some people think that that has a very low likelihood, and so we should just engage in normal politics—try to become more popular than Republicans. And people like me believe that it won’t matter if we’re more popular than them, because the rules won’t allow us to run a fair election; and so everything we are doing right now, both inside the Capitol and outside the Capitol, should be geared toward trying to make Republicans stop this assault on the rule of law and democratic norms.

Do you think it’s possible that Donald Trump wants to stay in office past 2028? How would he do it?

I think it’s absolutely possible. People very close to him are saying that it’s already a foregone conclusion. If he breaks the Supreme Court and breaks the Constitution and pays no consequence for it, we could ultimately be living in a situation in which the President just declares that he will stay in office. He could also hand power to a relative—maybe Donald Trump doesn’t run, but a Trump family member runs and the Trump family just stays in power. I think all of those things are possible.

The Democrats ran, in no small measure, on the preservation of democracy, and that failed. Why do you have any confidence that the public would mobilize for democracy in the future, if not now?

The public was not convinced by our argument, in 2024, because we were shilling for the existing version of democracy—which is deeply corrupt, which does not work. When I got into politics twenty-five years ago, something like campaign-finance reform, government reform, democracy reform, was a top-three issue for Democrats. It was something we talked about every single day. Somewhere along the line that stopped; somewhere along the line we stopped talking about reforming democracy. So it became easy for voters to just believe that we were all corrupt, and that neither Republicans nor Democrats were actually sincere in fixing what was wrong with democracy.

Trump is giving us this opportunity—because this is the most corrupt White House in the history of the country—to run on an anti-corruption message. But we will only win if we actually run an anti-corruption platform. And so, for me, the two things that matter most are populist economics and government reform. If Democrats run on cleaning up Washington with real, actual plans—to, for instance, get private money completely out of politics; to pass the STOCK Act, to make sure that not a single person inside government can use insider information to trade to benefit them financially—and we run on populist economics, I think that’s a winner, and it’s a way for people to stand up and support democracy, but only a reformed version of democracy.

You mentioned corruption, and we now have a situation where members of the Trump family earn tremendous fees from foreign governments. Seems to me that that’s a colossal form of corruption, and it’s not something we don’t know about. It’s published all the time, and then it falls into a black hole. Why?

Trump has been so public about his corruption that it ends up being normalized. If it were so corrupt, why would you do it in public? It must not be corrupt if you’re doing it in public. We’re used to corruption being done in secret. We’re used to there being a sort of shamefulness about it. And so it is interesting that his boasting of his corruption ends in people believing that he might not be corrupt.

I’m just shocked that the Trump meme coin isn’t, like, the only thing that we’re talking about. It’s probably the most massive corruption scandal in the history of the country. You literally have an—I guess—legal, open channel for private donations to the President and his family in exchange for favors. And we just think that it’s part of Trump’s right to do business in the White House. It’s gross. It’s disgusting. It’s deeply immoral. And the fact that we didn’t talk about that every hour of every day, once he released that coin, was kind of a signal to the country that we weren’t going to take the corruption seriously.

Senator Murphy, is Chuck Schumer the right leader for the Democratic Party in the Senate for this moment?

He can be. Listen, it’s not easy to be leader of this party. There are diverse views inside the caucus, and the whole caucus has to make up their mind that we are going to start fighting, that we are not just going to do business as usual. The State of the Union was an interesting moment. We could have engaged in an extraordinary act of protest: we could have chosen, as a party, to not go; to decide that we were not going to legitimize this President, this level of corruption, and the amount of lying in the State of the Union speech, by not showing up.

Did that conversation take place among the caucus?

I mean—it was judged, I think, too extraordinary and too risky a tactic.

Were you for it?

I chose not to go, and I certainly made the case that we should at least consider not going as an option.

Chuck Schumer’s argument about voting the way he did on the continuing resolution was that, if you shut down the government, it gives the Trump Administration carte blanche, for a potentially boundless period of time, to do whatever they like in terms of shutting down agencies—not that they’re not doing it to a great degree now, but that it would be open season. The opposing point of view—let them do it, let them own it—seemed to Schumer a gamble that one couldn’t take.

He has a compelling argument. It does feel odd for Democrats to protest Republicans shutting down the government by shutting down the government. And it is also true that the President would have extraordinary powers during a shutdown.

I came to a different conclusion. I thought that the public would actually blame Republicans for the shutdown of the government, because they saw them shutting down the government. But it is true that voting no on the continuing resolution would’ve been a big risk for Democrats. Not showing up for the State of the Union would’ve been a big risk for Democrats. Both could have backfired.

But we need to be engaged in risk-tolerant behavior right now. Because ultimately, the only way to save the democracy is for there to be a national public mobilization—of not thousands, not tens of thousands, but hundreds of thousands of people—when the five-alarm fire happens. If the public doesn’t see us taking risks—tactical risks, daily risks—then they are not going to take what will be a risk on their part, standing up to a repressive regime where it’s clear that the government is willing to make you pay a personal price if you exercise your voice.

This is in line with what you said to Jon Stewart recently. You said, “I don’t think you can ask the people of this country to do these exceptional things that are going to be necessary to save our democracy if we are not willing to take risks”—meaning yourselves. What kind of risks should you and your colleagues be taking right now going forward?

In the Senate, the minority has power—you cannot proceed to any legislation without the consent of the minority. Now, we have regularly been providing the votes to the Republican majority to move forward legislation that they care about, including the continuing resolution. We could choose not to do that. We could say to Republicans: Unless you work with us on some targeted measures to prevent the destruction of our democracy, we are not going to continue to pretend like it’s business as usual. We could make that decision as a party. Now, that would mean that occasionally Democrats would need to vote no on legislation that, on the merits, they may support. But, if you think that democracy is the No. 1, No. 2, and No. 3 story, then you have to act like it, and you need to show that you’re willing to take a political risk, like voting against an otherwise popular bill in order to increase and create leverage to try to save the democracy.

You mentioned the possibility of public involvement, public demonstrations, people out on the street. What would bring them there?

Well, there aren’t daily political rallies happening in the country. But anytime you set one up now, you’re seeing not thousands of people, but tens of thousands of people attending. You saw what happened with Bernie and A.O.C. over the weekend.

I think they reached thirty thousand at one of the rallies.

And Senator [Richard] Blumenthal, my colleague in Connecticut, was telling me that he went to this tiny, last-minute Tesla protest at a dealership in Milford, Connecticut, and there were six hundred people who essentially shut down Route 1 in Connecticut. People are ready to mobilize. We just haven’t been organized enough to give them those opportunities. And this speaks to the actual need of the Democratic Party right now. We have to be better when it comes to our tactics inside Washington, but we actually have to build a political infrastructure that can plug people in. And that’s what we’ve been really terrible at doing over the years. The Republicans have a permanent political infrastructure—mobilizing, legal, messaging, intellectual. The Democrats have a very thin permanent infrastructure.

So how do you go about winning back voters who don’t agree with you on some of what you say are orthodoxies, without ceding ground on things that you believe in?

I think about a really transparent ask of people, which is to say: we want you to work with us because you believe the minimum wage should be ten dollars higher. You believe that corporate power has become so consolidated as to become an evil. And we’re willing to hear you out, we’re willing to listen to you about your concerns, about how far our party has moved on guns or climate or cultural and social issues. To just have a little bit less judgment when it comes to the non-economic issues. I think that that builds a bigger coalition.

I get that. But, if you read Martin Luther King’s “Letter from Birmingham Jail,” or “Why We Can’t Wait,” he is addressing centrist, or center-left, clergy and activists who are always counselling him: You have to wait a little longer. It’s not time yet. And I think a lot of people, a lot of groups—and the most obvious one that Trump took advantage of in his ads were trans people—want their rights, want respect, and they want to be able to exist in the world as easily as you and me. Are we asking them to wait?

No. Listen, we’re trying to win power so we can protect those people. We just aren’t going to be able to protect them if—

If we mention them.

No. If we don’t build coalitions that allow us to win elections. Listen, one of my colleagues, [Georgia Senator] Jon Ossoff, gave a great speech over the weekend. He talked, in the meat of his speech, about the trans community, as I do, and said, “Listen, don’t let the right blame your problems on trans kids or on immigrants. Your problems are created by a fundamental corruption inside government. Your problems are created by a government that prioritizes the billionaires and rigs the rules against you.” That is a message that can win. So I don’t think you run away from your defense of those communities. You talk about those communities in the context of a message that is anchored in fighting concentrated economic power, and fighting the billionaire class that is taking over our government.

Senator, you’ve been on TV a lot lately. You’ve been out there quite a lot. Are you in the process of asserting yourself for national office?

No. And to the extent that my messaging has broken through a little bit more than others, I ascribe to the fact that there is not actually a personal motive attached to it. Sometimes, even if you’re not saying it out loud, people can kind of tell when you’re putting yourself out there for personal political gain. I actually believe that there is a good chance that we are not going to have an election in which people can make an actual choice in 2026. My hair is on fire about it. So to the extent that people are picking up what I’m putting down, I think it’s because they see that I am motivated—first, second, and third—by my fear that we are going to sleepwalk through the transition of our country from a democracy to an autocracy.

And you believe that’s what we’re doing right now?

I think we are at risk of sleepwalking through this transition. We desperately want to believe that we can play politics as normal because it’s uncomfortable—really uncomfortable—to play politics as not normal. It involves taking really big risks. And, of course, you just want to wake up and believe that you live in a country where people wouldn’t make a conscious choice to move away from democratic norms. But while some people are being hoodwinked into being along for that ride, others are making the conscious choice because our democracy has been so broken for so long.

So, yes, I believe that there is a chance that we miss this moment. We just wake up one day and we are no longer in a democracy, which is why I think we have to start acting more urgently right now.

And is it like the boiling of a frog? Or is there a more immediate flash point, when you know that you’ve passed the point of no return?

No, I think it’s like the boiling of a frog. We believe that there are these Reichstag moments, but there normally aren’t. Normally, you just lose an election, and then you lose another election, and then another one. And you start to look around and say, wait a second. I don’t think the minority party can ever win again.

[jermys-silly-stuffz]

This might be a weird request but can you do one where you and the Mercenaries have been dating for awhile when suddenly y/n gets sick out of nowhere and eventually find out they're pregnant so they tell their Merc partner?

Yeah of course I'll do this!! This one will include scout ⚾,medic 💊, and sniper 🦘

Tw: talk of sex and other sexual things

MERCS WITH A PREGNANT READER!!!

🔞18+ dni if younger🔞

Scout ⚾ !!!

When you first start showing symptoms of sickness he's the first to assume your pregnant cause y'all be fucking like rabbits I swear 💀

But you try to assure him your not cause secretly you're kind of worried to

So when you do find out you're pregnant you're officially freaking the fuck out. You now scouts gonna be a good dad, but what if he doesn't want a kid?

Scout notices you're down and asks you what's wrong. When you fess up and tell him your pregnant well he initially freaks out wondering about every possibility ever.

But soon he calms down and thinks things through. Eventually he comes to the conclusion he wants to be a dad!

He'll hug and kiss you over and over again because of how happy he is. He wants to be the greatest dad ever especially since he never had one. He doesn't want that for his kids he is gonna literally defend him/her with his life.

Medic 💊 !!!

When you first start showing symptoms of illness both of you are mellow about it. Neither of you seem to believe there was any possibility you were pregnant. Unlike what most think I believe medic is one of those people who always wears protection during sex

Though there was one time a few days ago when he went without protection cause you both were trying out new kinks and stuff like that. And a breeding kink just so happened to be one of them.

When medic realizes this he's almost ecstatic about it. I personally think he's always wanted to be a father no matter how crazy he was. Just the thought of teaching his child about different subjects got him excited.

So when you bring him a positive test he's literally the happiest man alive no kidding. Like he's praising you kissing your stomach the whole ten miles.

Safe to say he's a proud dad

Sniper 🦘 !!!

Bro is frantic when you've been throwing up for the past few days. He's definitely the type to breed you to the brim but he never thought he'd actually get you pregnant!??

After you approach him with the positive test he's having a panic attack.

Like a bad on. What if he's not a good dad? What if something goes wrong during the pregnancy? What if, what if what if?

It's not like he doesn't want to be a dad he really does it's just hard for him.

He doesn't understand how to parent but that can be something you two can learn together 🩷

In conclusion he's a very scared yet happy new dad

[insomniamamma]

We Go Again: Ezra X F!reader

A/N: so this is written for @romanarose 's Disability Visibility event. This takes place within the Prickle'verse, some time after they establish their homestead, but as always can be read as a standalone. Established, loving relationship. Roughly 1k.

Warnings: Phantom limb pain, some angst, a bit of miscommunication.

“Why’d you yank the mirror, down, Prickle? Call Skaathrand’s name three too many times while brushing your teeth?” “Fuck you, Ezra,” you say, but there’s real no bite to it, not after all this time, been off world long enough that the superstitions of your youth have mostly dissipated. “At least I don’t believe in the Grass Boys.”

“Now that’s not fair,” Ezra dimples, “My brother popped out of that Kevva-forsaken swamp in a gilly suit for the sole purpose scaring the ever-loving shit out of me! I told everyone who’d listen about how I saw one of the Grass Boys. That rat bastard let me tell the tale for years before admitting to it. Even after he fessed up I still wasn’t sure about what I saw that day.“ “Cee didn’t believe you,” you say, remembering the heat and swampy funk of Ezra’s home world. No family left at the home place except his grandmother who called him by his brother’s name and patted his hair with an arthritis gnarled hand, and told him to pull the spiker-traps from the water. Ezra wasn’t even sure of her exact age, records tend to be spotty in the Fringe. “Cee believes in nothing she can’t fix her two eyes upon,” says Ezra, “Suppose she’s wise in that regard. So what’s with the mirror? We got the points, we could get a better one if this doesn’t suit you, got points enough to gut out the bathroom to your liking—“ “I know it hurts you. Especially the time of year.” Ezra stiffens and that old fear crawls in, fear that you’ve spoken above your station, fear rooted in the early days of you and him, newly hired crew when he’d ripped into you for offering help with his suit checks, and later apologized shamefaced, didn’t mean to snap at you, but it’s best I do these things for myself. If I need your help I will ask, clear? Clear. “What do you know about it?” His voice has that brittle edge, been around him long enough to know that his words may cut, been around him long enough to know that the doubts and scars run deep, been around him long enough to know that even if he lashes out he’ll say sorry later. “I’ve noticed, that’s all. The weather changes and you hold yourself different. You flinch if I come up on that side. M’not stupid, Ez.” Ezra’s eyes narrow and then relax, dips his head. “Never thought you were,” he says, “And yeah, it hurts when the weather turns. It seems a foolish thing, after all this time.” “It’s not foolish, it’s pretty normal, I mean, I’m sure you know all that-“ “Tell me about the mirror, Prickle.” “I was poking around on the drop net and I found this thing called mirror therapy. Where you set up the mirror kinda between your legs? So you can see your reflection, it tricks your brain-“ “Woo-woo drop net bullshit most likely,” “Most likely,” you echo, “But we could still try? You won’t be any worse off if it doesn’t work—“ “We’ll give it a go. What could it hurt?”

“Okay, I’m gonna hold it steady, just look at your reflection, okay?” You brace the mirror against your body. “What’s you’re right hand doing?”

“My right hand is rotting somewhere on that wretched moon,” he says.

“Ez.”

“Making a fist. If I’d known how this was gonna turn out I would’ve clipped my nails before I let Cee do her gruesome business. They dig.”

“Make a fist with both hands and hold em out, like you’re reaching out—“

“Prickle-“

“Don’t look at me, just stay focused on the mirror. You gotta make make your left hand do the same thing as your right hand. Dig your nails in. It’s gotta feel the same.”

“I think I see what you’re getting at but my tattoo is not bilateral.”

“Fuck. Forgot all about it.” His reflection tilts away as you lift the mirror and lean it against the wall. Ezra looks at his hand, concentric circles between his thumb and forefinger. Orbits for him and Owen and Gabe, but now it’s just him. Remembers this buzz of the cobbled together tattoo gun, vibrating through the hand that isn’t there, his own set of orbits not so neat as his brothers, had a good couple shots of station swill in him before he turned the contraption on himself. He’d dug in a bit too deep and the rings hand scarred slightly, nervous habit of passing his thumb over the raised skin. Open your hand, he thinks, I can still feel you, you fucker so just open up, but he knows this almost never works. Those nails are going to dig for the rest of his days, price of survival he thinks. Hears you rattling around in the bathroom, and almost calls for you to forget it, let’s just go to bed, Prickle, tomorrow will be better.

“Here. Gimme your hand.”

“Which one?”

“Smart ass.” You dab a bit of Cee’s long abandoned concealer over Ezra’s tattoo, hold his hand in yours and blow on his skin to make it dry faster, and his heart twists a little, mix of melancholy and love. You’re good to us, he’d told you once, rinsing out your clothes in a stream on Syrinx-7, your hand in his, just as rough, neither of you accustomed to softness.

“Okay, let’s try this again,” you say, “Keep focused on the mirror. I’ll hold it steady.”

The next morning you find him in the kitchen, peering out the window, haloed in grey light, winter coming on, relentless rain that will turn to snow soon, rubbing at his stump.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work.”

“I think it worked a little,” says Ezra, “I slept better than I have in some time. Maybe we can go again?”

[stopiteatpopcorn]

Caught red handed

———————————————————————————

Fandom: One Piece

Characters: Ler! Sanji, Lee! Luffy

Word count: Around 800

⚠️THIS IS A TICKLE FIC SO IF YOU DON’T WANNA SEE THAT, YOU HAVE BEEN RANDO WARNED⚠️

———————————————————————————

When the food on the ship goes missing, only one person could be responsible- But will he confess his kitchen crimes?

———————————————————————————

It was an early morning on the Thousand Sunny, and a certain blonde cook had woken up early to prepare breakfast and plan out meals for the rest of the day. He’d decided on some bacon and eggs, a simple meal, yet full of nutrients for the crew. Then for lunch, Chicken sandwiches with some veggies on the side, and maybe some delicious steak for dinner! However all those plans went overboard when he opened the fridge…

“WHAT THE-?! Where did all the food go?!’ Yelled Sanji, eyes wide as he looked at the completely empty fridge- Well- Save for a few vegetables. Who would do such a thing to his food stock- Those were his ingredients! Chicken, steak, butter, eggs, bread- All gone! He turned around to storm out and question everyone, until he spotted a line of bread crumbs trailing all the way to the ship’s figurehead. He followed it along, but he knew the only person it could possibly be already. “LUFFY! YOU IDIOT, WHERE’S MY- Luffy?!”

Of course, the captain was fast asleep and snoring. However his face was covered in small pieces of chicken, crumbs of buttered bread scattered beside him- Wait that’s his ingredients! He ran up, delivering a firm kick to to Captain’s behind which almost sent him flying into the water with how hard he jolted awake. “WAA- OW OW OW! WHAT HAPPENED?! DID WE FIND THE ONE PIECE- Oh it’s just you- Good morning Sanji!”

“Good morning?! Oh it is not a good morning, you ate all the food- Again!” Sanji scolded him, practically fuming. He knew the captain was a glutton but it was tiring constantly trying to stop him from clearing the kitchen. Hell he even put locks on the fridge before, and he still got in somehow!

“Hey as hungry as I am right now, I didn’t eat all the food this time!”

“Oh yeah? Then who did?”

“Uhhh…Uhhh…Ussop!”

Was the guy being serious right now..? That wasn’t gonna work on him, he had evidence right in front of him. “Right, you mean the one who’s too scared to even step foot in the kitchen alone so I don’t knock his lights out?”

“Hey- Don’t say that! Ussop could handle you!” Luffy threw back.

“Ugh whatever this isn’t about that. You ate all the food!”

“No I didn’t!”

“Yes you did!”

“Did noO-AAH- SANJI-!” The captain of the straw hats yelped as he was suddenly tackled to the ground. “WAIT SANJI- LET GO!” He attempted to make an escape, stretching an arm out to grab at the railing of the ship and pull himself out from under the blonde, only to squeal in surprise and retract it right back to his side when he felt fingers scribbling at his sides.

“Oh no you don’t! Not this time!” Sanji smirked, determined to get his captain to fess up.

“WAHAHA- Sahahanji- Wahait!” Luffy giggled, wiggling like a worm. How dare Sanji use his secret- not so secret- weakness against him!

“Nope! I don’t wait, unless you can bring me more food to make up for everything you ate!”

“Nohoho! I tohohold you I didn’t eheheat thehehem!” He denied through his bright giggles, however both of them knew the obvious truth.

“Oh yeah? Then what’s all this mess huh?” The cook looked at the crumbs around them and then back at Luffy’s smiling red face.

“Uhhh- Heheheh-! Nohothing!” He kicked away all the crumbs in his squirming, but Sanji wouldn’t let up this easy and he knew it.

“Nothing? Yeah right.” He continued his attack, drilling his thumbs into Luffy’s hips, sending him into renewed louder giggles. But he still wasn’t confessing. “Alright fine, if you won’t tell the truth..” He leaned down, and blew a loud raspberry on Luffy’s tummy, sending the boy into hysterics.

“PFF- BWAAAHAHAHAHA- SAHAHANJIIIHIHI!” He squealed, throwing his head back with wild laughter, a huge grin on his face. Sanji would be lying if he said that his laughter wasn’t contagious. But he’d never admit that! He continued to blow raspberry after raspberry, until eventually…

“OKAHAY OKAHAHAHAY! I AHAHATE THE FOHOHOOD!”

“I knew that already dumbass. Now- Are you gonna get us more food at the next island?” Sanji asked, halting the raspberries to look up at the captain with poised hands.

“Yehehes! Yehes! I will!” He replied, slowly calming down from his giggle high. Sanji got off of him, standing up and dusting himself off.

“Good. Anyways, I had a backup stash in case of you doing this-”

“WHAT?! WHERE?!”

“AS IF I’D TELL YOU!” He shoved Luffy away, and before they knew it, he was chasing him around, hoping he wouldn’t find the extra stash. And as crazy as his captain might drive them, he supposed it made things a bit more entertaining.

“WILL YOU TWO SHUT UP?! IT’S 5AM, I NEED MY SLEEP!” A sandal came flying at the two, which conveniently only hit luffy. And now he forgot what he was doing, distracted by the redhead’s voice.

“SORRY, NAMI SWAAAN!”

———————————————————————————

A/N: RAAA THIS WAS MY @squealing-santa GIFT FOR @switch-writer !!! HIII BESTIE OMG I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG, CHRISTMAS THIS YEAR WAS SUPER BUSY FOR ME, AND I HAVEN’T WRITTEN IN FOREVER SO THIS HELPED ME GET BACK INTO THE ZONE- BUT I HOPE YOU ENJOYED YOUR SQUEALING SANTA GIFT, I HAD FUN WRITING IT!!

[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

What would happen if someone called Pup clingy?

Like, once Pup is comfortable enough, they would just stay at Ghost's side (or 141 in general) and would probably initiate physical touch with 141

I can just imagine some recruits, not having a lot of knowledge about hybrids, and just commenting on how 'clingy' Pup is with Ghost

And Pup just overthinking about those comments and just scared of 'annoying' Ghost and 141

✨️ anon

Oh dear lorrrrrd, RIP. They will get all the side eyes from Ghost when he finds out and Soap and Gaz will find the most subtle ways to mess with them. Price has seniority so he can force them to attend anti-bullying lectures as well, he doesn't even need to resort to childish tactics ahaha

Ultimatley you know Pup's gonna overhear that and keep it to themselves, trying not to let it get to them but obviously failing. They'd totally overthink it and try to hold off on velcro-ing themselves to Ghost's side. They'd sit apart from Soap and Gaz playing games or watching football too, plus they don't even go sit with Price that afternoon while Ghost goes to the firing range, they just resort to sitting somewhere by themselves and reading.

The next day is when Ghost finally cracks and asks what's up, he'd notice them not seeking him out for any contact at all, not even a hand up if they fall while training. That would be when Pup pops the "Am I too clingy?" question and Ghost would immeidatley be like 🧐"Why would you say somethin' so silly?" becuase ofc he knows that Pup wouldn't bring that up on their own.

Pup would then fess up what happened and get wrapped into a big bear hug 💕 and for a little while after that, Ghost doles out a 'good Pup' whenever they give him a hug so that they know they're not being clingy