#there are two differences! answers in the back of the book :)

[clairewritesfanfics]

Old Friends

Your Character Settings: AFAB, Jason Todd's childhood friend, civilian, famous author

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

“When the cops told me they’d be sending over a bodyguard, I didn’t expect them to send in a superhero,” you said, setting down the frog-shaped pitcher on the coffee table. 

You then took a seat directly facing Red Hood. Tall. Bulky. Vigilante. Alleged colleague of the Bats if you were going by the giant red bat logo across his chest. He looked almost comical on your thrifted loveseat, but he kept his knees together and folded his hands politely over them, as though that would help make him look smaller. 

“I was told you were getting death threats,” he said. 

“Authors get that kind of mail all the time.”

“But it got worse, right?”

You shrugged. “I can deal with that type of thing, I called the cops for a different matter.” You gestured at the envelope on the table.

Red Hood examined the contents. They were photos of a shattered library window, specifically, the Jason Todd Collection, which was a library that doubled as a shelter full of secondhand sofas and couches and two bathrooms. It’s been around for three months and completely owned and funded by you. 

“I’ve heard about this place,” he said. “It’s amazing.”

“Thanks, I’m glad you think so because I want help finding the son of a bitch that broke in and beat up the people sleeping inside.”

“I’m pretty sure the cops already dealt with that.”

“They said they were going to deal with it, but a few officers took some pictures and didn’t even bother interviewing the victims.”

“I understand your concern for the victims and I don’t mean to be rude, but I came here to ensure that you were safe. It’s not exactly a secret that you own the Ja…” he paused briefly before continuing, “that you own the shelter. An attack on the place could’ve been a way of getting your attention. The shelter was attacked after your latest book release, correct?”

Your growing temper simmered and you reclined on your armchair. He was right. “Okay, I see where you’re coming from.”

“Ma’am–”

“Don’t call me that, makes me feel old. Just call me by my first name.”

He hesitated before saying your name and, “your new book’s controversial.”

“Yeah. Not everyone’s happy that I brought back a character from the dead. He was a fan favorite so half of my readers were happy to see him again, but the rest think that resurrection cheapens the plot.”

“I think you foreshadowed Hector’s return pretty consistently.”

“You read my books?”

He tilted his red helmet and you could feel him smiling under that thing. “I like love stories.”

“That–Jason!”

His whole body stiffened, but then a giant, furry thing emerged from behind his loveseat and started sniffing his shoes and thighs. 

You sighed. “That’s Jason. He usually hides in my room when I have people over. C’mere, boy.”

Instead of running to your lap like he always did, your seventy-kilogram, stranger-fearing rescue folded its legs and laid its heavy head on Red Hood’s boot. 

“Huh. That’s never happened before.” You eyed the hero suspiciously. “Can you talk to animals or something?”

He chuckled. “No superpowers, I’m afraid, guess he just likes me.” He bent down and gently rubbed the dog’s head. 

Your throat rumbled lowly with mild jealousy. It took you a whole year before Jason would let you approach him without peeing.

Red Hood then asked, “So…Jason?”

“What?”

“Was that always his name?”

“No. According to the shelter that found him he never answered to a single name. When I got him, I refused to just call him dog or it, so I reinforced the name Jason.”

“...you named him after Jason Todd?”

“Yes, I did.” You crossed your arms. “Now, can we please discuss the reason why you’re here?”

“I didn’t mean to get on your nerves, I was just–”

“–curious, I know.”

“You must’ve really cared for this Todd.”

You thought of Jason, beaming as he handed you a cheeseburger, laughing at a joke you told him, and you smiled. “He was my best friend.”

Red Hood said nothing.

“He died a few years ago. He was the smartest person I knew and he… he didn’t even get to finish high school.” You exhaled and looked at your bookshelf. “I want the world to remember his name, even if it’s just from the dedication pages in my books and a small library.”

***

Red Hood made himself comfortable on the rooftop overlooking your apartment. You may not have cared about several death threats but he did, and he wasn’t about to leave you alone unguarded.

“So this is where you’ve been,” a sing-song voice interrupted his thoughts.

Jason clicked his tongue.

Nightwing wrapped his arm around his brother’s shoulder. “Heard everything from Babs. I can’t believe you approached her as Red Hood before you showed up as Jason.”

“Go away, dickhead.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Tsk.”

“She’s really cute, are her books any good though? Never found the time to read, well, anything. But Babs said–”

Dick’s words merged with the city’s usual background noise as Jason continued to watch you behind your balcony door.

He watched as you knelt down to help Jason the Dog slip into a red hoodie before pressing a tender kiss between its eyes.

He then opened his phone and scanned your weekly schedule. You were too reckless. You left a lot of your things out in the open. What if a freak found your planner?

He made a mental note to install some cameras when you leave to get groceries tomorrow.

Disclaimer: The image of Red Hood used in this post does not belong to writerclaire. It's by Dexter Soy and was lifted from: https://www.reddit.com/r/DCcomics/comments/h0iavp/cover_from_red_hood_and_the_outlaws_20_by_dexter/

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[miyasmagnolias]

𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐞 𓂇⋆⭒˚｡⋆

miya atsumu x f!reader

you invite atsumu and the boys to your spring dance showcase to raise money for a good cause — and maybe get even after the viral video incident. atsumu, on the other hand? he just wants to ask you out and, if he's lucky, kiss you properly this time around.

part eleven of the in close quarters series, a friends-to-lovers college AU featuring you, atsumu, and the ten months you spend living together senior year.

a/n: a tiny bit of lore, but i used to dance throughout college (and still do to this day), so this one was super fun to write. enjoy! ( ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

"So...what kind of dance does she do again?"

"Uh..." Atsumu blinked down at the bouquet of flowers like they might contain the answer to Suna's question. "Hip-hop, I think?"

Osamu locked his car and shot his twin brother a judgmental glare. "Haven't ya lived with her for, like, eight months now? Shouldn't ya know what type of dance she does?"

"How am I supposed to know?! It's not like she performs for me in the livin' room or anythin'!"

Osamu's face twisted in disgust. "Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't ya."

Atsumu's face turned beet red. "The fuck is that supposed to mean — ?!"

"To be fair," Aran interjected, ever the pacifist. "Modern dance can blend together a lot of styles — jazz, ballet, hip-hop. It's really not as cut and dry as people think it is."

"See?" Atsumu said, grateful to his team captain for coming to his defense. "It's not as cut and dry as ya think it is!"

Aran gave him a flat stare in return. "Still, I find it baffling that you didn't think to ask."

The four former Inarizaki boys began the long trek from their parallel parking spot to The Bloom Room — a seventies-inspired cocktail lounge nestled in-between campus and downtown. Your university dance troupe had partnered with the small business to host your annual spring showcase, the event doubling as a community-wide fundraiser for a handful of local nonprofits.

Invite the volleyball boys, too! you'd texted Atsumu a few weeks back, along with the link to buy tickets. We need as many people there as possible. The more drinks you buy, the more goes to charity!

Atsumu didn't exactly know who you meant by the 'volleyball boys' — Osamu and Suna didn't really count anymore, and Sakusa wouldn't be caught dead in a place like The Bloom Room. Aran, on the other hand, was a welcome surprise, the captain of the men's volleyball team happily agreeing to go when Atsumu brought it up to him after practice the other day.

"I'll do anything for a good cause," he'd said, though the fluorescent lights of the locker room did nothing to hide his amused expression. "Did you end up wooing her with your extensive knowledge of Pride and Prejudice?"

"I was not tryin' to 'woo' her — I was tryin' to help her with an essay!" Atsumu exclaimed, slamming his locker door shut. "There's a big difference."

"You stopped reading every other sentence just so you could ask me what it meant," Aran said dryly, recalling the two-hour flight back from their first away game. Off the court, he'd never seen Atsumu more concentrated. “If anything, you needed help.”

Atsumu shot his team captain an offended glare. "At least I finished the damn thing. It got good — ya know, once I got used to all the ol' timey English."

Aran folded his arms across his chest and exhaled slowly. "Look, it's clear you've got feelings for this girl. So in addition to reading her favorite books and kissing her on the cheek after games, why don't you just ask her out?"

The setter shifted uncomfortably on his feet. It wasn't as if the thought hadn't crossed his mind before — just that every time it did, it was accompanied by the worst possible outcomes he could think of. Him, finally working up the courage to ask you out. You, laughing in his face. Him, having to sleep in the room next to yours every day while he died of embarrassment. Just thinking about it made Atsumu want to yak.

It was much easier to flirt with you than to actually admit that he liked you, he'd realized. In fact, Atsumu kind of hoped you'd be the first to acknowledge it. He'd dropped more than enough hints for you to catch on.

But as your spring semester continued without so much as a peep, Atsumu realized he didn't have much time left. He needed to fess up to you before you graduated and went on to become a publishing mogul or a Pulitzer Prize winner — or whatever the hell English honors students went on to do after college.

The plan was simple: get you alone after the show, hand you the bouquet he'd spent nearly an hour picking out. Pop the question while somehow keeping his ego intact. Easy peasy.

At least, he thought it was.

"Oh, are you here for Y/N?" a girl with large hoop earrings and a handkerchief for a top said when Atsumu approached the check-in table. "You're her roommate, right? She's told us so much about you!"

"She didn't tell us you'd be bringing a whole team with you," another drawled, twirling a long braid around her perfectly manicured fingers as she sized up his friends. "Sheesh."

Despite himself, a stupid grin broke out on Atsumu's face. "She talks about me?"

The two girls exchanged humored looks from across the table.

"Let's just say she's gonna really love the flowers," the one with the braids replied with a smack of her gum.

"Wish my boyfriend bought me flowers," the one with the earrings chuckled, stamping the back of Atsumu's hand. "Enjoy the show!"

The Bloom Room was bathed in sultry purple lights as Atsumu and his group navigated the crowd of friends and family that had shown up for that evening's showcase. The high-top tables and stools had been cleared out to make room for a dance floor, with rows of folding chairs now lining the perimeter of the space.

"It's awfully intimate, ain't it?" Osamu observed as he sat next to Atsumu in the row closest to the dance floor.

"I'ma grab a drink," Suna quipped, already making a beeline for the bar. Meanwhile, their phones pinged in unison. It was from you.

Are you here yet?? you'd asked in the group chat you had created with all four of them. Did you get good seats?

Atsumu's fingers were already flying across the keyboard.

Yep, front row! Break at leg! Then, before he could stop himself, he added a pink heart emoji and hit send.

"Whoa," Aran said, blinking back at the text message not a moment later. "A heart? Things must be getting pretty serious."

"Shaddup," Atsumu tsked, folding his arms across his chest. At Osamu and Aran's bemused stares, he asked, "What? It ain't the red one! The red one is the serious one!"

"Dunno, man," Aran teased as Osamu stifled his laugh. "A heart's a heart."

Atsumu's confident expression faltered as he said, "W-Well, do ya think it's too much? Should I edit it?

"I think it's a little late for that," Osamu drawled just as their phones pinged again. They all looked down at their screens.

Great! you'd replied, hearting Atsumu's message. Can someone take a video of me pwease?

On it, Suna texted back. He returned a few minutes later with a tequila soda in-hand.

"Dude," he murmured as he sat back down. "What was up with that frilly pink heart? Keep that shit to yourselves."

Atsumu rolled his eyes.

"Good evening, everyone! Take your seats, take your seats," the girl with the hoop earrings said into the microphone as the remainder of the crowd settled in with their drinks. "My name's Mina, and I'd like to personally welcome you to the Silk Club's third annual spring showcase!"

A wave of applause ricocheted through the venue.

"We've got an incredible lineup of talent here tonight representing several on-campus dance orgs, so sit back, relax, and enjoy the show," she said. "As a reminder, all ticket and drink proceeds go towards our city's women's shelter and the center for LGBTQIA+ youth, so I encourage you to get as drunk as humanly possible! It's for a great cause!"

Laughter and applause rippled across the crowd. Beside Atsumu, Suna tipped his cup back until all that was left was ice.

"Now without further ado, I have the pleasure of introducing to you our opening act," Mina continued. "The Silk Club is a group of young women whose mission is to feel empowered and body confident in their dance. This is their third year hosting their annual spring showcase in support of the local nonprofit community, and they are incredibly excited to perform for you all tonight. I myself have been a part of this team for two years now, and I can confidently say there's no other group I'd rather shake ass with to raise money. So without further ado, give it up for Silk!"

The crowd whooped and hollered as several silhouetted figures emerged from the back room and assumed formation on the dance floor. Meanwhile, Atsumu's heart kicked up a notch as he scanned the shadows to find you. Beside him, Osamu frowned.

"Shake ass?" Osamu repeated under his breath. "Don't tell me — "

He was promptly cut off as the opening chords to Mariah Carey's "Obsessed" blared through the speakers, the spotlight flickering on to reveal you — in the tiniest black tube top and skirt — staring back at the audience with a sultry pout on your face.

Aran's eyes widened. Suna nearly choked on his ice. Osamu ran a hand over his face and glanced toward his brother, who — for all intents and purposes — looked like he was about to have a stroke.

Because you were hot. Nay — you were hot as fuck.

And everyone in that room knew it, too.

"I thought she did hip-hop!" Aran yelled over the music as you danced across the floor in your stiletto heels, your confidence radiating with every body roll, every hair flip.

"Dunno what kind of hip-hop you're watching, but this certainly isn't it," Suna shot back dryly, having already hit the record button on his phone.

Except Atsumu wasn't even listening. All that occupied his brain was you. Batting your eyelashes at the audience. Rocking the headscarf you'd styled into your long hair. Touching yourself in places that made Atsumu feel faint. You looked like the seventh member of Katseye, only prettier. How hadn't he known this about you?

"Why you so obsessed with me? Boy, I wanna know..."

The crowd went completely ballistic as all the girls on your team planted their hands on the sticky floor and shook ass in perfect unison. Only then did Atsumu notice the phone in Suna's hands.

"Would ya not film my roommate's ass like that?" he stammered, doing a double-take.

Suna merely shrugged and said, "What? She asked me to."

Then, before Atsumu could argue further, you were sauntering up to him. Soft smile. Pouty lips. Eyes that could disarm him in an instant. You ran a delicate finger along the curve of his jaw, tilted his chin up to look at you. And winked.

For fuck's sake.

"I think you can see the exact moment his soul leaves his body," Suna deadpanned, scrubbing through the video after you and your teammates had struck the final pose to the sounds of ear-splitting applause.

Osamu elbowed his brother in the ribs and said, "Ya alright in there, Tsumu?"

Atsumu just stared at the dance floor as you and your teammates took your bows. Brain empty. Face steadily draining of color. His grip tightened around the bouquet in his lap as he tried to careen himself back to earth.

Asking you out was going to be way harder than he thought.

Atsumu's heart rate more-or-less returned to normal after that, the rest of the show featuring a variety of modern dance crews, cultural clubs, and K-Pop cover groups. Nothing as outrageous as the opener, but perhaps that was for the best. Atsumu didn't need his nervous system compromised for a second time that night — especially with the question he was about to ask you after the show.

The Silk Club closed the showcase with a much tamer, less anxiety-inducing routine to "Rocket" by Doechii, the choreography maintaining your team's signature charm while showcasing your versatility of style. Atsumu cheered for you as you danced your heart out in the center of the room, your energy infectious as the music coursed through your every muscle. From your cheeky smile down to the soles of your sneakers, it was clear you loved being up there. The entire time, Atsumu couldn't stop grinning.

He was the first to give you a standing ovation by the end.

"Seems like Atsumu isn't the only one who can work a crowd," Aran drawled in amusement, standing up so he could clap for you properly. Beside him, Suna snapped about a million pictures.

Osamu merely hummed in agreement and said, "Pretty sure this is the first time he's been more enamored by someone other than himself."

As usual, Atsumu didn't hear a damn thing — just clapped his brother on the shoulder and said, "I'll be right back."

Several families and friend groups had since flooded the dance floor to reunite with their performers, Atsumu shouldering his way through with the bouquet clutched to his chest. Your friend Haru had found you first and was currently gushing to you about your performance, Atsumu maintaining his distance for several nerve-wracking seconds before your eyes eventually latched onto his. Your face broke out into the sunniest smile he'd ever seen, and by God. You were beautiful.

You said goodbye to Haru and made your way towards him. His arms found purchase around your waist as he lifted you several inches off the ground and squeezed you as hard as you could.

"Hi," he murmured into your hair. It smelled of your sweat and shampoo.

"Hi," you whispered back, your voice warm and breathless. "What did you think of the show?"

"I..." Atsumu trailed off, the mental image of you throwing it back flashing across his mind. "I didn't know ya could move like that, that's for sure."

A chuckle rumbled out of you as he set you down. You adjusted the oversized jersey you had changed into for the finale and said, "Yeah. I'm a little embarrassed that you and your friends got a full view of my ass, but it's whatever."

"Well, for what it's worth, it looked good." Then, after realizing what the fuck he'd just said, "You. Y-You looked good, I meant. Shit."

You were full-on laughing at this point. "That's high praise, coming from the king of low sets himself."

The tips of his ears turned red as he finally remembered the bouquet in his hands.

"These are for ya," he said, watching your eyes soften as he gave them to you. You lifted your nose to the assortment of wildflowers like you did with all of your books. "Ya looked incredible up there, Y/N. Seriously."

"...thank you, Tsumu." A shy smile worked its way onto your features before you admitted, "No one's ever gotten me flowers before."

"Ya bein' serious right now?" he asked, equal parts surprised and pleased with himself. You nodded. "Well, that's only cause ya haven't invited the right people before."

You rolled your eyes. "The right people being you?"

"Damn straight," he said, already reaching for you a second time. "Come 'ere."

He wrapped his arms around you in the middle of the crowded dance floor, his cheek resting against the crowd of your head. Relaxing into his embrace, you listened to his heartbeat through this shirt. Steady. Grounding. A little fast. But then again, so was yours.

You craned your neck to look him in the eye. He gazed down at you like you were the only other person in that entire room.

Pulse picking up speed, Atsumu slowly leaned in until he was a mere breath away from grazing your lips against his.

But before he could kiss you, someone was already calling your name.

"Y/N!" Mina hollered, the both of you jumping backwards like two guilt-ridden teenagers. She scanned the dense crowd from the front of the room like a mother who'd just lost her child at the zoo. "Y/N, where the hell are ya?! We're taking a group picture!"

Clearing his throat, Atsumu adjusted the collar of his jacket and tried to channel whatever nonchalance was left in his body. Beside him, you haphazardly tried to fix your hair. The two of you locked eyes once more and, gradually, started to laugh.

"Go," Atsumu said, jerking his chin towards your teammates. "Don't keep 'em waiting."

Mashing your lips together, you looked like you wanted to argue. But your teammates were already calling your name.

"Come out to eat with us afterwards?" you offered, a hopeful expression on your face. "I think a handful of us are going to that new Korean spot downtown. You can bring the boys, too."

Chuckling, Atsumu nodded. "Sure. We'll be there."

"...okay," you eventually managed. It did little to mask the dazed, if not mildly disappointed expression on your face. "I'll see you soon."

And with that, you disappeared into the crowd.

"Ya boys in the mood for Korean food?" Atsumu asked his friends when he found them lingering outside the restrooms.

"Why, what happened?" Osamu asked, shooting his brother a grin. "Yer plan fall through?"

"Yep," Atsumu quipped, throwing an arm around Osamu's shoulders. "I'm 'bout to drown my sorrows in an army stew."

"At least you gave her the bouquet," Aran offered, drying his damp hands on his jeans. "You only spent half the afternoon trying to pick it out."

"Seriously," Suna mumbled, eyes never leaving his phone. "You owe us dinner for the amount of moral support we're showing you right now."

The three of them debated how many dishes to order the entire car ride there. Meanwhile, Atsumu stared out the window, wondering when the hell he'd be able to get you alone.

"I never thought I'd see the day someone actually outdrank Mina," you giggled, fumbling with your keys to the apartment. "How much soju did Suna have?"

"I dunno, but he was scarily composed after all those domino shots," Atsumu murmured as you both entered through the front door and turned on all the lights. "Passed out like a light in the backseat, though."

Even though he'd barely managed to talk to you during dinner, it was surprisingly fun to see you relax for once. You were excited to introduce Atsumu and his friends to the people you had danced with for the past several months, grateful to see everyone get along so well in between spoonfuls of bubbling hot pot.

"It's nice to finally meet the best roommate she's ever had," Mina had teased, already four shots in. She flung a sweaty arm around your shoulders and said, "Her words, not mine!"

At that, Atsumu raised an eyebrow and grinned. "The best, huh?"

Maybe it was the alcohol, but he swore your face turned two shades redder at that.

Now, Atsumu watched from across the kitchenette as you meticulously trimmed the flowers he'd gotten for you, your fingers nimble as you arranged each one into a vase. The gentle hum of the air conditioner filled the silence between you, along with the rhythmic snip of your scissors.

Without looking up, you said, "You're staring."

"Am I?" Atsumu drawled, a smile toying on his lips. "Was just admirin’ yer makeup. Is that what they call a full beat?"

You nearly choked on your laughter. "Where did you learn that from? TikTok?"

He lifted a noncommittal shoulder. "I have my sources."

Smiling, you said, "Well, would you be so kind as to grab my makeup remover from the bathroom? I've been dying to get this off."

Five minutes later, Atsumu poured himself a glass of water as you tried removing your eye makeup with a soaked cotton round, a dark streak of eyeliner now smudged halfway across your face.

"Did I get it?" you asked, blinking at Atsumu from where you sat atop the kitchen counter. Laughing, he put down his glass and began wiping it himself.

"I like when you look like this," he confessed, gently dragging the cotton round across your skin.

Frowning, you said, "Like a rabid raccoon?"

"No, ya twerp. Ya know what I mean."

You didn't say anything for a long while as he continued removing your makeup. You felt your face warm beneath his touch as he did so.

"Thank you for coming to the showcase tonight."

"Of course. I wouldn't have missed it for the world." Then, after a brief pause, "Ya know, as the best roommate you've ever had."

You groaned. "I'm never gonna live that down, am I?"

"Not a chance," Atsumu drawled. He cupped your cheeks with both of his hands and inspected your face from different angles beneath the warm kitchen lights. "There. Squeaky clean."

Neither of you moved as you realized just how close you'd gotten to each other. You, your knees grazing against his torso. Him, the warmth of his palms sending a pulse of electricity down your spine.

"Atsumu..." you breathed, your voice merely a croak.

"...yeah?" he managed, brown eyes searching yours for something — anything — to indicate that you wanted him closer.

"...is there a reason you're always so nice to me?"

Lips parting, he said, "I think ya know why."

You closed the gap and kissed him not a moment later.

Now, Atsumu had imagined what it would be like to kiss you — had even dreamt about it, embarrassingly enough. But nothing, nothing compared to the way your lips worked against his now, each movement slow. Deliberate. Almost like you were asking a question.

You like me? you seemed to ask, fingers curling into his t-shirt, pulling him closer. Atsumu merely cupped the back of your head and deepened the kiss, the feeling of his tongue against yours extinguishing all doubt from your mind.

Yes, he thought, melting into you completely. Yes. I always have.

He braced his hands on either side of the kitchen counter, boxing you in. Your hands slid into his hair. A low moan escaped the back of his throat when you parted your legs for him and wrapped them around his waist. Fuck. He couldn't believe this was happening right now.

But before he let himself fall any further, he had one thing left to ask.

"Wait — wait," he stammered, pulling away from you suddenly. Lips swollen. Hair disheveled. Heart hammering in his chest.

At your confused expression, he asked, "Will ya go to dinner with me?"

Your chest rose and fell as a bemused expression crossed your features. "Are you asking me out right now?"

Atsumu gulped back and said, "I just...I wanna be sure I do this right."

Heart twinging at his words, your hands gently traveled down from his hair to cup both of his cheeks.

"You know, I thought you'd never ask," you drawled, eyes gleaming in adoration as you beheld him. Your roommate. Your friend. Your best friend, if you were being totally honest. "I'd love to."

The stupid grin that broke out on his face had you pulling him in for another kiss.

a/n: thank you for the love on these past couple of chapters, y'all! i'm slowly but surely responding to messages and comments — but in the meantime, please know that i appreciate all of you for reading this sappy lil' fic of mine. it means the world to me.

(next chapter will cover atsumu and y/n's first date mwahaha. stay tuned.)

@miyasmagnolias, 2025

[darkmatilda]

𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: the weight of distance presses heavier with each passing day, the ache of absence stitched together only by hour-long phone calls like a fragile sutures on a wound that refuses to close. so you choose his birthday — the perfect day to cross the miles in silence and secrecy, and surprise spencer on his special day.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: glasses!reid x baufemale!reader, long distance relationship, early seasons team, so our queen elle is here, lots of team interactions overall, both reader and spencer's pov, height difference, kissing until his glasses fog up xx

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 5k

𝐚/𝐧: literally started writing this over two months ago so i hope the first half doesnt differ too much in quality from the second one :/ the soul who’s the first to catch the tiny subtle mr darcy reference gets a cookie!

You admitted it without a trace of embarrassment – every time you called your long-distance boyfriend, you waited for him to pick up with your forehead almost glued to the screen and your lips frozen in a half-smile, ready to bloom across half your face the moment you saw his face.

Automatically.

The word nonchalance wasn’t foreign to you, but you deeply despised it. You had no intention of pretending it didn’t matter whether he picked up or not, or that you hadn’t rearranged half of your quite busy day for that shared moment. You weren’t going to pretend that hearing his voice meant any less to you than it actually did, just to maintain some kind of image or out of fear of being too much.

No, that definitely wasn’t your case.

If anything, you leaned toward paranoia — that you weren’t doing enough to take care of your relationship stretched across nearly 4000 miles and separated by the Pacific. That you weren’t trying hard enough. You had a set time for one call a day; usually, by then, you were already comfortably tucked under the covers and reporting in for duty (though duty was a very poor comparison—unless we’re talking about the duty of petting small fluffy puppies. yes. kissing the heads of twenty fluffy puppies was almost exactly like your daily call with Spencer).

But that one daily call usually wasn’t the only one. You reached out to each other spontaneously throughout the day, depending on your schedules and the plans of that particular day. On weekends, you watched movies together, he read a book aloud and you exchanged thoughts only when his calm voice reached the end of a chapter, or you played chess online. The bare minimum to fill the void left behind by the distance.

A void that was, however, ravenous—and seemed to deepen with every passing day. It wasn’t a graph line with rises and dips. It kept steadily taking up more and more space inside you.

And that’s how you came to the conclusion that even hundreds of books read aloud by Spencer wouldn’t be enough to dissolve it.

Not when his voice came through a phone speaker.

Not when it wasn’t followed by his breath, tickling your ear.

And that realization pushed you toward a certain…spontaneous decision.

But more on that later.

Your call was finally answered, and a premature, involuntary soft smile curled your lips before his face even appeared on your screen.

“Hey, handsome…” you began with your usual line, fully prepared to relish the blush that would bloom on his cheeks like cupcakes with sweet cherries on top—

but instead of your favorite treat, you were met with something entirely different.

Seeing Derek’s face, clumsily close to the front-facing camera and moving in a way that strongly suggested he was fiercely struggling to keep hold of the phone, snapped you back to attention like an athlete catching their footing.

“Hello, conventionally handsome man, long time no see. Anyway, where’s my handsome man?”

“Morgan, I’m serious, give me—”

“Hey, kid, how many times have I told you women don’t like possessive men? Let me talk to her for a sec…”

“I’m not possessive, I just…”

“You’re right, long time no see,” Derek cut in, completely ignoring his friend—his words, his attempts to wrestle the phone back from his hand. You kept your gaze fixed on the corner of the screen where a part of Spencer’s face occasionally slipped into the frame. Your lips were still curved in a smile, but shifting your focus to Morgan took effort. “What’s up, former-new girl? Don’t look too happy to see me.”

“Oh, I’m very happy to see you. In fact, the sight of you has turned this rainy Amsterdam day well, not exactly sunny, but let’s say we’ve moved from a downpour to a drizzle.”

“You’re welcome—that’s what friends are for. So? You in the mood for a quick chat with me?”

“Morgan.”

“Hmm, gladly,” you replied, tapping your free lip in mock thoughtfulness. “Let me just check my schedule to see when I might be available. How about next Friday?”

“Next Friday?”

“Morgan, I swear—”

“Oh my God, stop torturing them already,” cut in a woman’s voice you recognized instantly, and almost in the same moment, the phone moved from Morgan’s hand to your friend Elle’s.

She gave you a smile—a fleeting one, just a flash of sincerity—before replacing it with her trademark bossy expression. “Another second and they’ll both shrivel up from longing. Here you go.” She handed the phone back to its rightful owner. The first thing you saw were his eyes behind the glasses, aimed at her, full of grateful warmth. “You both owe me one. But since one of you is currently unavailable and clearly unable to repay it, you owe me two favors, Reid.”

A nod.

 “Goes without saying.”

You just managed to catch Morgan’s disappointed sigh at having his thoroughly entertaining game cut short, before you found yourself finally, completely one-on-one with your boyfriend.

He was watching the two of them—presumably leaving—until, at last, his gaze shifted to you. That tiny smile of yours finally bloomed into something fuller.

“Okay, I feel like I was interrupted earlier and I need to say this again, properly,” you said before he could get a word out. You took a breath, like you were about to cast a spell. “Good morning, handsome.”

You loved that kind of smile on his lips—the one that came with an involuntary tilt of the head, like its weight shifted evenly and pulled just enough to cause that barely noticeable movement.

“Finally. Good morning, angel.”

It warmed you every single time he used that phrase with you, and you couldn’t help but blink a little faster at the thought of hearing it in person after such a long time apart. But that was still the future, a vision. For now, there was the present, reality.

“Please, tell Morgan I didn’t brush him off because I didn’t want to talk to him,” you said. “But I literally have fifteen minutes before I have to leave and just wanted to call you real quick, because I won’t be very available later. I have a seminar.”

Spencer nodded because, of course, he remembered. But still, his brown eyes clouded slightly.

“You mentioned it. And well, of course I’ll tell Morgan you brushed him off because you didn’t want to talk to him.”

You almost snorted, but held it back.

“Hey, being my boyfriend doesn’t give you permission to use me for your personal revenge.”

“It doesn’t?” he asked with a face of innocence, fake curiosity, like he’d just come across a tiny footnote at the bottom of a page, an unknown piece of information.

“Well, usually no, but there are exceptions to that rule. For example, when the personal revenge might bring satisfaction to both of us. The second is when you ask nicely. Just please, don’t abuse that option.”

“I’ll try, but I can’t make any promises.”

“I’d make you pinky-promise, but that wouldn’t really work in our current situation,” you said, glancing at your own raised pinkie, the corners of your mouth tugging downward.

Then suddenly, they parted, struck by a thought. “Oh, right. I just remembered. What are you planning to do tomorrow?”

Spencer’s brow furrowed slightly.

“The usual, I guess? Go to work…”

“For your birthday, silly.”

This time, it was his lips that parted with a soft, dawning hiss of realization. You looked at him with raised eyebrows.

“Don’t even tell me you forgot your own birthday.”

Spencer shook his head distractedly.

“No, it’s not that I completely forgot. But if you think about it, it wouldn’t be that weird if I had. I don’t have any plans anyway, and it’s just going to be…you know, a totally normal day.”

You watched him for a moment in silence. You rarely faked emotions around him. But this time, you had to summon a thick mask of exaggerated disappointment—couldn’t let even the tiniest flicker of stinging excitement slip through.

“I wish I could be there for you so badly.”

That part didn’t need faking. The sincerity in those words rang clear. You saw your boyfriend’s jaw tighten slightly, and you wished you could reach out and rest your hand against it, letting your thumb brush toward his lips.

The silence that followed suddenly felt especially heavy. You knew Spencer was masking his sadness so you wouldn’t feel bad about not being there. He didn’t expect you to feel guilty—but he anticipated it. And, well, he’d be right. You would feel bad.

You forced a smile onto your lips—only because you wanted to see how, eyes fixed on your face, he’d unconsciously mirror the gesture. You’d learned that trick a long, long time ago.

“I have to run,” you announced with a sigh. “Seriously, I have to run. technically, I should already be out the door.”

“Don’t forget your umbrella.”

“It’s not raining anymore.”

“Yeah, but it’s supposed to start again right around the time you’ll be heading home. And there’s a cold front coming in from the North Sea, so maybe wear something warmer under your coat. I don’t want you getting sick.”

Spencer knew the weather in your city—on another continent—better than you did.

A moment of silence to let that fact settle. Thank you.

“If you’re right, I love you,” you said. “If you’re wrong, I still love you, but I’m also mad I had to lug around an umbrella all day.”

For a fleeting moment, he dipped his head, eyes squinting just slightly, a small smile on his lips.

“I love you too.”

*

Spencer had never been particularly fond of celebrating his birthday.

To him, birthdays were simply another way of measuring time like years, months, weeks, and days—only a little more brutal. They were like a mirror you woke up in front of one day, a moment of realization and reckoning—not so much with time moving forward, but with everything that had been left behind. The new year reflected what you had achieved and who you had become. Birthdays, on the other hand, felt like a celebration of missed chances, honored with the addition of yet another digit to your age.

Twenty-six. He could’ve done something far more impressive by now—and he didn’t mean that just as self-criticism. He was being objective. At twenty-six, Einstein had his Annus Mirabilis, his miraculous year, the year he developed the theory of mass–energy equivalence. With that knowledge in mind, Spencer had every right to feel a certain pressure.

But beyond all that, that day…he just wasn’t in the mood.

He had just been wondering what to eat for dinner when his phone started ringing.

A long-distance relationship had trained him to reach for it the exact second the ringtone sounded—and to experience that brief flicker of disappointment when the name on the screen wasn’t the one he was hoping for. Just like this time.

“Oh, Reid, how wonderful that you picked up so fast,” came Penelope’s voice on the other end.

“Garcia, hey. Something’s wrong?”

“Yes. I mean—no. I need you to drop by for a moment, is that okay? I mean, even if it’s not okay, it’s still probably better if you come. Not that I’m forcing you, but—ugh, just come over.”

Spencer was standing in his kitchen, phone pressed to his ear, and as her explanation spilled out, a suspicion started blooming in him. He considered himself a fairly perceptive person—and Penelope a very open book. So it was no surprise that, almost immediately, he had a pretty good idea of what was going on. He leaned his lower back against one of the cabinets, folding his free arm across his chest.

 “I’m not sure I can make it,” he said despite knowing full well that he could, and that he had the time. But he also knew that, on the other end, Garcia was probably exchanging panicked looks with the rest of the team, arguing about where exactly to hang the balloons in her apartment. And the image was amusing enough to drag out the moment. “For what?”

“I need your help. With something.”

“With what exactly?”

His friend let out something between a hum and a sigh—both thoughtful and panicked.

Meanwhile, Spencer waited patiently, smiling to himself and saying nothing.

“What am I supposed to tell him?!”Penelope’s voice came faintly from the speaker, as if she’d lowered the phone away from her mouth probably thinking that would keep him from hearing. It didn’t.

“I don’t know, make something up!” came a reply Spencer recognized instantly—Derek. A finger snap. “Lightbulb in the bathroom went out.”

“Oh, great! I love when your brain is the same size as your biceps.” She turned her attention back to the phone, voice suddenly loud and confident with her freshly invented excuse  “The lightbulb in my bathroom blew.”

Spencer wasn’t about to let it slide that easily.

“What wattage?”

“What?”

“What wattage is the bulb? LED or halogen?”

“Normal. It’s a normal lightbulb, Reid.”

“Are you sure it’s burnt out? Could be a wiring issue. Might be better to call a specialist to take a look. I’d rather not end up electrocuted. Especially on my birthday.”

“Jeez, tell him to stop being such a child.”

Penelope pulled the phone away again.

 “I can’t, then he won’t come at all!”

“I have an idea,” Spencer said suddenly, forcing her to scramble back to the call.

“Why don’t you ask Morgan to change it for you, since he’s already there?”

Garcia squeaked in panic. Then immediately broke into a cough, trying to mask the sound.

“There is no Derek Morgan here! Where would you even get that idea?” she squealed in a high voice. At the same time, a distinct snort of laughter echoed in the background. “That? That’s just the TV. Just…some dumb show with an annoying host. Ugh, I should really turn it off…”

The snort that echoed in the background this time didn’t belong to Morgan. It belonged to Elle. A quiet, distant argument broke out between all three of them, and Spencer didn’t understand a single word of it. He cut in at the moment he considered most appropriate.

“I’ll be at your place in 30 minutes.”

Complete silence.

“You’re coming? Seriously? Guys, he says that— I mean, ymm, great! See you!”

Before she hung up, he still managed to hear her deep sigh of relief that the conversation, in which she had to show off her conspiracy skills, was finally over.

Spencer slowly pulled the phone away from his ear, remaining for a moment in the silence that followed. Of course he had intended to show up from the very beginning. He might not have felt excited at the thought of his birthday, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate the surprise his friends had put effort into preparing. It wasn’t his dream way of spending the day, but there was a reason that dream scenario remained in the realm of dreams—its realization was simply physically impossible. But a not-so-surprising surprise party ranked high on that list.

He hesitated over what to wear. In the end, his gaze settled on the shirt he'd gotten from no one other than you. You liked how that soft, muted pink color both slightly contrasted with his wardrobe and still somehow fit perfectly into it. You also used to say it brightened his face.

Spencer pulled it on, tied his tie, and sent you a photo. He wanted you to know that even though you were far away, he was still wearing your favorite clothes.mHe didn’t expect you to reply right away.You’d already had the birthday call, during which you gave him wishes you’d been crafting for two weeks. You delivered them at machine-gun speed with all your enthusiasm, then repeated them more slowly so he’d have a chance to actually understand anything.

Your reply came just as he was leaving his apartment.

my boyfriend sending me an outfit check??? never thought I’d live to see that day

He was just turning the key in the lock, the light from his phone casting a glow onto his face, letting the gentle smile on his lips break through the darkness slowly wrapping around the stairwell. He pressed the handle again to check whether being distracted had made him forget to lock it. Then he dropped the key into his pocket and slowly started down the stairs. 

Not quite an outfit check. Just tangible or well, virtual, proof that I really like this shirt and I’m not wearing it just because you told me to. The team’s throwing me a surprise party and I figured it’d be perfect…

here his fingers slowed

…it’s your favorite, and in its own not-quite-explainable way, it makes me feel like you’re here.

The reply probably came in before you even finished reading the whole message.

so an outfit check?

wait what kind of surprise party is it if you know about it??

u’re so sweet. also you look so good in that color.

He wanted to text back, to explain how he even knew about this surprise party, but another message came in.

sorry cant really text rn just getting off the tram :( hope u have fun at the party kisses call u later

He was a little surprised, since you usually took the later tram home, but maybe you just had your own reason for coming back earlier. Maybe he’d ask about it later, when the two of you called. Spencer hoped he wouldn’t be too tired after the party to talk to you.

So he replied simply

Got it. Please, be safe.

The way to Penelope’s apartment passed very quickly for him. It occurred to him that he didn’t really know who would even be there. Definitely Morgan, Elle, possibly JJ, but he doubted that everyone had shown up—like, everyone everyone.

And if it turned out he was right, he didn’t intend to be even slightly offended—after all, it was understandable they might’ve wanted to spend the evening in a different way. He knocked on the door and didn’t even call out to come in, even though as he was approaching them, he had clearly heard voices coming from inside, which suddenly, as if by magic, fell silent.

He felt like rolling his eyes—in a positive sense. It was predictable. Of course it was. But it also filled him with a certain warm feeling.

He opened the door and stepped into Garcia’s apartment, heading for the living room. And that’s exactly what he did when he saw the entire team gathered there. He rolled his eyes, though that warm feeling grew stronger and made the decision on its own to stretch his lips into a broad, broader smile when he realized they really were all there.

They were silent, eyes fixed on him, Elle and JJ both holding a tray with a birthday cake with lit candles, but for some reason not bringing it any closer to him.

“Sorry, but I have to say this,” he began. “You’re so predictable.”

“Are we?” came a voice directly behind his back.

He didn’t exactly freeze in place, like he’d been hit with liquid nitrogen. His body transitioned into that state gradually — starting with his shoulder blades instinctively drawing together, long before his mind fully processed the situation or registered that voice.

That voice.

The voice he heard every single day through his phone or laptop speaker, desecrated by the quality of the device — which, even if it were the most cutting-edge machine built by NASA, wouldn’t be able to truly convey the tone of her voice, let alone force him to feel the kind of emotions that now crashed into him like a wave, drowning him.

Water filling his ears.

No, that couldn’t be — they had literally exchanged texts just moments ago!

His eyes locked ahead, all the team’s gazes fixed on him, waiting, expectant. Penelope, her hands tightly clasped together, resting just beneath her chin.

Spencer, not breathing, turned around — and only then drew in a deep, vital breath.

Vital, because he knew he was about to pull her into an embrace so tight neither of them would get a taste of air for a very long time.

Your eyes locked onto each other like two powerful magnets, desperately seeking one another — an instant click. Another instant click when both your arms wrapped tightly around his neck, lifting her feet off the ground. Click when his hands gripped your waist firmly, steadying you. Click when his face found its place in the curve of your neck, burying itself there completely, disappearing, hiding, drawing the curtains so no one else could interrupt this moment.

Click, because you were together.

Spencer drew in a shaky breath, entirely filled with your scent — a scent he seemed to rediscover after months apart — occupying his mind so completely that the words he had intended to say slipped away from him entirely. You took over the role of speaker instead.

“Happy birthday,” you announced tearfully, sniffling and pulling your head away from his shoulder so the tear rolling down your cheek wouldn’t stain his shirt.

The pale pink shirt. Your favorite shirt.

You pouted your bottom lip, trying to hold it together, but you couldn’t. Now that you were finally with him, the full weight of maintaining a long-distance relationship — the weight you had been pushing away to avoid sinking into sadness — crashed down on you all at once. But it was wild, unrestrained, and yet instantly found comfort in his arms, his scent, his presence.

You felt his chest cave slightly as he took in a breath and lifted his head to look at you. In the process, his glasses had been pressed all the way up his nose from where they'd been crushed between your neck and his face — the frames practically touching his eyelids — but neither of you thought about how ridiculous that must've looked.

His eyes immediately locked onto the tear that had slipped from yours. He wanted to wipe it away, but he didn’t want to let go of you either, so he settled for pressing a fleeting kiss to your cheek, brushing it away with his lips instead.

It earned a muffled, quiet laugh from you.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in a hushed voice.

You blinked and dipped your head slightly, letting the tears pool without falling, then tilted it back up so you could focus on his face. Immediately, you had the impulse to adjust his glasses, which you did.

“Attending my boyfriend’s surprise birthday party,” you replied, sliding your hand down his chest and rising onto your toes to kiss him — briefly, because you could feel the eyes of all your friends on you, patiently silent and giving you time.

It wasn’t a good idea. The moment your lips brushed his, Spencer froze for a second, only to lean in for more right after. You barely managed to pull away, ignoring his disgruntled hum of protest.

“But I guess I’m the only element of this whole thing that was actually a surprise…”

You shot a meaningful look at Penelope, fully aware Spencer had known about some kind of party happening. The blonde defensively waved her hands in front of her, brushing off the implied accusation.

“Oh, you don’t get it. I let it slip on purpose so your entrance would be more spectacular! Our genius boy thought he had outsmarted our whole plan and then…” she gestured between the two of you, still tangled together.

This time, it was Spencer who shot her a look, full of disbelief at her words and amused pity. And, as it turned out, he wasn’t the only one — well over half of the people present mirrored his reaction.

To shake off all the attention suddenly weighing on her, Penelope snapped her fingers in the direction of Elle and JJ, who were holding the birthday cake.

"Those candles are practically melting! Don’t forget your wish, loverboy."

Your lips twitched the moment you heard that nickname, and you gave Spencer a light, urging pat on the arm still wrapped around you. You could still feel his hand gently tightening around your waist for a fleeting moment before he let go — his fingers performing a subtle flex before falling back to rest — and leaned down over the cake to blow out the candles shaped like the numbers 2 and 6.

He immediately tried to pull you back into his embrace, but you forced yourself to slip away, letting him get swept into the whirlwind of bear hugs from everyone else.

You stayed back, just slightly to the side, knowing you'd have time for just the two of you later. Your gaze lingered on his softly glowing brown eyes behind his glasses and the faint squint from the smile that simply refused to leave his face. The sounds of the room gradually faded away around you.

Surprisingly, you didn’t feel the slightest exhaustion after the long, connecting flights. And even if any fatigue dared creep its way into your body, it was instantly drowned out by what now burned in your chest — that warm, joyful feeling.

“Why did I even stress so much over picking a gift for him?” you heard from your left , Gideon muttering under his breath, but still loud enough for you to catch. He was staring in the same direction. “No matter what I gave him, the only thing he’ll remember from today is you.”

You exchanged a glance with him — the smile lingering only on your lips, but you could tell he shared it.

For the rest of the party, you and Spencer stayed within arm’s reach, always side by side, finally able to allow yourselves that closeness after so many months apart. Even later, as you made your way back to his apartment at night, hauling gift bags and a single box between you, he carried them all on one arm just so he could keep the other wrapped around you.

You clung to his pink shirt, occasionally rising onto your toes to press a kiss to his jaw or a smile, only to pull away again quickly — careful not to crash into a trash can or a lamp post along your path.

Clinging tightly to his side wasn’t exactly making it easier for either of you to walk. But Spencer didn’t complain. Even despite the fact that you were moving at the pace of a drunken turtle.

When his apartment building finally appeared within sight, you tilted your head back for a moment, breathing slower, more consciously.

“Tonight’s stars are so beautiful,” you remarked, staring at the faint, barely visible dots in the sky.

Spencer slowed his steps, lifting his gaze toward the sky, only to fully shift his attention to your face.

“Setting aside the fact that those are the same stars on the same day,” he started, in that scientific yet soft way of speaking of his, “which I’m quite sure you know…no, they’re not beautiful. Look again. You can barely see them.”

“They’re still beautiful,” you insisted.

You were two adults, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, loaded with birthday gift bags, arguing whether or not the stars were beautiful. Spencer stood firmly on the no side of that debate.

“Absolutely not. Artificial light sources in the city generate light pollution, which makes astronomical observation of the night sky difficult. If we were somewhere less urbanized—”

“But we’re here,” you cut in softly, your face still tilted toward the sky. “We’re here together, which makes them beautiful to me. Besides, beauty is a relative concept. Which I’m quite sure you know.”

His quiet sigh, the gesture of surrender. Instead of trying to convince you of something he simply couldn’t convince you of, he just pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Fine, you win, my little relative concept.”

Already on the staircase, your melancholic mood vanished entirely as you pulled him into a kiss he couldn’t escape from. Not that he wanted to, but he had to — if he actually wanted to dig the key out of his pocket and let you both inside. So while your hands clung to the back of his neck, his fumbled through his pockets — the same ones, because he was far too distracted to remember which ones he’d already checked and which he hadn’t.

“Wait—”

“Can’t—”

“Find—”

“The key—”

Slipped from his lips in the few short moments they weren’t covered by yours. You couldn’t care less about his key struggles — you’d been away from him for months, and you fully intended to kiss him for every single time you’d wanted nothing more than exactly that, but had an ocean between you instead.

Eventually, Spencer gave up and fell silent, returning your kiss with his entire being, both of his hands cradling your cheeks perfectly. You wished your skin was made of plaster, able to preserve the shape of them on you forever. You heard his short, muffled whimper and cracked your eyes open, just enough to notice that his glasses were completely fogged up.

His glasses fogged white, his cheeks flushed pink.

You giggled at the sight, making his face match the color palette of his shirt even more. One of his hands slid down from your cheek and drifted toward the small pocket on his chest. “Found the key,” he announced.

It immediately slipped from his fingers and hit the floor with a clatter.

His sigh, your next giggle, and both of you bending down at the same time.

A head collision and two groans.

You burst into open laughter and took full advantage of the fact that he was bent down, reaching for the key, to press a soft kiss to his hair—the very spot where you’d bumped heads. You left a trail of kisses along his head, wandering across his forehead, brushing the tip of his nose, slowly claiming his lips.

Meanwhile, he blindly fumbled with the key, trying to aim it at the lock without breaking the kiss for even a second.

You weren’t sure there’d be enough hours in the night to fully make up for all the time you’d been apart. Especially since you yourself still couldn’t quite believe this was happening. That you were seeing him again. Kissing him again.

Finally, after what felt like real, dragging hours and simultaneously exactly 4.24 light-years traveled in mere minutes—the sound of the lock turning.

[lush-escape]

The Vigilante's Guide to Grief

pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader wc: 1.4k summary: Jason's therapist recommends journaling to help him through his grieving process after your death prev: first entry next: denial

Stage one: Shock

Hey,

Ok that's a little easier than writing dear. It's June 11th. Sorry it's been a little while. This just feels stupid still. But I told Christy (dumb stupid therapist who told me to do this) that I would give it another try. So here I am. Trying. Unfortunately she's not that bad. That's a lie. I actually really like her. Dick came by to check on me today. Him and Kori brought over some weird tameranian dessert. I dont know. I stuck it in the fridge it looks like it might grow legs and try to bite me.

Jason rubs at his eyes, “I still have no idea what I'm supposed to write.” He mumbles a curse under his breath while running his hand through his messy hair.

I bet you would have tried it. You always liked the weirdest shit. Like the time Steph and Cass tried to make a cake for you for your birthday. Who the fuck even makes matcha and strawberry cake?

“Um, why does it look like that?” Jason eyes the questionable looking cake in front of him.

“Don't worry about how it looks!” Steph waves him off with a nervous smile.

“Do not judge a book by its cover.” Cass crosses her arms as if she's actually offended by Jason's question.

“It's good! She loves matcha and strawberries, it'll be great.”

“Okay, but like… what kind of cake flavor is it?” Jason asks.

“Coffee.” Cass replies.

Jason groans and rubs his hands down his face, “I should have just ignored both of you and gone to the bakery. This is my first time celebrating her birthday with her as her boyfriend, I can't believe I let you two talk me into this. She's going to hate me. She's going to break up with me-”

“Oh no,” Steph shoots Cass a worried glance, “He's spiraling.”

Cass narrows her eyes and smacks Jason on the back of the head earning her an annoyed “ow! What was that for?!”

“Relax. Trust us.” She says calmly.

That night when you went to Wayne Manor at Jason's invite for a special birthday dinner, he said. And when it was time for cake you were just as surprised as Jason, just on the other end of the spectrum. You stare at it unblinkingly.

“It's, listen okay-” Jason stammers, hand on the back of his neck. “I know it looks a little off and I told Steph and Cass that this was going to be a bad idea-” he rambles.

You place a gentle hand on his forearm and immediately he melts. He sighs and deflates, his thoughts stop spiraling, and suddenly everything is right in the world.

“I hate how you do that….” He whispers.

“What?” You ask with a smile.

“Just.. calm me down like that. All you have to do is touch me and it's like- like everything stops and I can think clearly.”

You smile up at him, warm and bright and like he's created the entire universe just for you.

“Come on, let's try this cake.” You tell him softly.

And despite his better judgement he does try the cake. It's different, not what he imagined, and it's good. Jason grumbles as Cass and Steph tease him for being right.

“Alright, enough of everyone's pestering. We're getting outta here.” Jason waves off the family as he takes your hand in his. You look at him and silently ask where he's taking you and he gives you a soft smile in return. He can hear Tim and Dick snickering at the loving gesture. But he ignores them as he drags you out of the manor.

“It’s a surprise.” Jason tells you quietly.

That night Jason takes you for a drive to the harbor near Brown Bridge. It's quiet and cool, the lights from the city accentuating the bridge in front of you. Water slowly laps at the shore, you can hear frogs and crickets as Jason helps you climb onto the hood of his car before taking a spot next to you.

“What'd you bring me all the way out here for?” You ask him playfully with a smile, leaning your cheek against his shoulder.

Jason wraps an arm around you, “..just wanted you for m’self.” He answers questions as his heart thuds in his chest.

“An’... I got you something. Didn't want the brats to see it.” He finally admits after a few peaceful moments of silence. You knew it was coming.

Jason reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small black box.

“It's not anything crazy, just…” He hands it over to you and he's thanking the stars that it's dark out so you can't see the way his face flushes in embarrassment.

Inside is a small, simple, heart shaped locket. Inside holds a picture of the two of you, one of your photo booth pictures - the one of you kissing Jason's cheek as he smiles. The opposite side is engraved with the day he officially asked you to be his.

“Jason…” you breathe out, touched. Heartfelt tears prick the corners of your eyes. 

Wordlessly Jason takes the locket from you and begins to fasten it around your neck.

“It's beautiful, baby.” Your fingers trace the edging of the locket, memorizing it. Jason blushes even more.

“S’not that big of a deal, calm down.” He plays it off with a smile. But even he can't deny the way his heart flutters when he sees it on you.

“Yes it is, you big softy.” You smile up at him and he mumbles something that sounds a lot like “‘m not soft”.

“Yeah, whatever.” He grumbled affectionately before pulling you back into his side.

Jason drops his pen and puts his head in his hands with a shaky sigh. The memory of your first birthday together as an official couple haunts him. He lets himself breathe for a few minutes before he picks his pen back up.

I need you here so bad right now. Not in that stupid fucking urn. I'm spiraling. Again. Sometimes I wish I could feel the same way I did right after you died. Empty. Numb. So I wouldn't have to sit with my thoughts. I was on autopilot. Freaked everyone out though. B said he’d never seen someone so emotionless while planning a funeral before. He said I was in shock. Yeah no shit.

“She doesn't want to be buried.” Jason’s flat tone made everyone on edge.

“We'll have her cremated.” Bruce’s hand is on Jason's shoulder as he looks through a catalogue of coffins and urns.

“Hm…” Jason hums. “Something nice.” His eyes are on the page but he's not really looking. He can't believe this is happening. It all feels fake to him. There's no way your body is going to fit into an urn. You're <I>you</I>, you're not supposed to be in an urn. You're supposed to be sitting on the couch, in his lap, making him watch Love Island or whatever the fuck.

“Something pretty and ornate.” Jason's eyes skim the page. “This one.” He points to a black urn engraved beautifully with stars.

Bruce nods once. He's aware of the shock Jason is in, but it still unnerves him to see his son like this.

“Of course.” He says.

“And for the service I think we should do a, uh, dessert pot luck. She loves desserts.”

Bruce notices the way Jason is still talking about you in present tense but doesn't say anything.

Jason's writing is rushed now as he's trying to get out all of his thoughts while memories of you swirl around in his head.

Christy says that's one of the worst states of grief but I miss it. God I miss you. This isn't fucking fair. None of it is. It wasn't supposed to be you you know. It was supposed to be me. It was always supposed to be me. I already died once what's one more time? I would die a hundred times over if it meant you got to stay here even if it was just for 2 fucking minutes

Jason sighs and closes his notebook. His head is a clouded mess, feels thick with cotton and heavy like lead.

“God damnit…” He pushes away from the desk and without a second thought goes to the kitchen to try that dessert from Kori and Dick. It's what you would've done, after all.

taglist: @vellichor01 @thy-crimson-king @theendofthematerialgworl @tinasdcstuff @4rachn3

[lohotine]

``The Want to be Wanted.``

Chance x Reader (Forsaken)

Cw: Mentions and usage of: Cigarettes, Alcohol. Not proof read.

The night had been long. It was filled with loud activities, risky bets, money, alcohol.

Things that were commonplace for a casino.

Chance had you by his side the entire night. You were his quote-unquote lucky charm. Though you're pretty sure he was only saying that because you were a nice piece of eye candy for him to flaunt around the casino.

What is a crown without its jewels, after all?

He'd have you seated on his lap while making irresponsible bets that he somehow never ended up being punished for, leaving kisses along your neck and rubbing their thumb over your hip.

It was honestly quite boring, but you couldn't deny that the attention was nice.

Feeling wanted was nice.

Of course, he'd make it up to you by buying you drinks and complimenting you the entire time. About how nice you looked that night, or how good you smelt.

Cheap, basic compliments like that; but compliments nonetheless.

Compliments that, despite your best efforts, replayed in your mind over and over.

But all good things have to come to an end eventually.

The two of you would call it a night, and Chance would bring you to his expensive car parked outside, and he'd hold the passenger door open for you, like the gentleman he was.

As Chance drove, you'd look out the window to see all the city lights filling up the streets. You'd see all of the people who have yet to retire for the night.

Chance was rambling on about a jackpot he won earlier that night. You already knew about it, of course. After all, you were with him the entire time. Yet you continued to listen despite this.

You always listened.

Nobody else really did.

And eventually, you'd reach the apartment complex he had booked for the night. It was a different one from last week, though no less expensive.

Chance could never really sit still, after all. They were constantly chasing after that thrill. Asking things like, what kind of complimentary wine will be served this time?

Or, will there be white bedsheets or black?

Small things like that. Things that made him seem like even more of a gambling addict than he already was.

He'd know the answer to these questions if he simply checked the website a little more thoroughly. But why would he do that when he could just leave it up to fate, right?

The lobby was empty. It was late, after all. Chance took this as a sign to wrap his arm around your waist and walk you towards the elevator. Not like he wouldn't have done the same thing anyway if there were people.

"So, fun night, right?" He muses, that signature grin brandishing his face as you approach some random suite. You say nothing. You just want to lie down.

"I'll take that as a no," he notes, sliding the apartment keycard along the sensor. The inside looks nice. Everything Chance owns is always like that.

Refined, minimalistic, expensive.

Chance starts to take off his coat, but you don't help him. You only wander off to the balcony. To the first moment of solitude you've been offered this entire day.

Solitude isn't really what you're after, though.

The entire city stirs beneath you. Cars speeding down the street, apartment lights serving as your substitute for stars.

It's something you have to get used to. How everything is constantly in motion.

How it can never seem to sit still.

And eventually, after staring at the view from the balcony and being lost in thought, Chance reunites with you once more.

And once again, your thoughts have circled back to him. The one person who probably could not care less about you.

Not really.

Not in the way you'd want.

He pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his suit. It's an exclusive, nameless brand that's probably worth more than your entire life's savings.

Another reminder of just how little your life is worth in comparison to his. For some reason, this night just seemed full of them.

Chance lights one cigarette and brings it up to his lips. You watch silently as he breathes it in, and eventually breathes it out.

It's sort of mesmerizing; how pretty he is.

"Take a picture. It'll last longer." He grins at his own joke, because of course he does. "But seriously. What's up with you? You've been acting off all night."

You say nothing. You're not even sure what you'd say, anyway.

The only sounds that remain are the sounds of cars driving by and the sound of Chance's breathing as he continues to smoke.

If he were feeling a little more generous that night, perhaps he would have allowed you to remain silent.

But he'd long since become bored of your little silent treatment. Even the most patient of people grow tired of waiting after all.

He leans over you, smoke swirling around the two of you like a veil. Chance smells of alcohol and expensive cologne. The apartment smells like antiseptic.

An unfamiliar mixture of scents.

A mixture that just so happens to set off all of your nerves in a way that makes you feel like something is wrong.

You can't see their expression under the sunglasses, but even if you could, you doubt you'd be able to decipher it.

Is there something wrong?

"Come on now, use your words. Tell me what's on your mind," Chance says, his thumb brushing along your bottom lip.

He looks at you with that small, charming smile. The one he's constantly wearing. Though this one, you admit, is slightly softer.

It manages to make you fold. Instantly.

"Why do you even keep me around? You... have no need for me..." you mumble.

The atmosphere gets more suffocating with those words, and Chance's movements seem to still, if only for a moment.

Then he sighs. He removes the cigarette from his lips and flicks it out over a nearby ashtray.

"Of course I don't need you."

His hold on your chin tightens. An act of desperation, perhaps?

"But I want you," he exhales, the words sounding breathless on his lips.

"I want you so badly."

"And more than that... I want you... to want me too."

Chance never thought he'd admit those words.

After all, Chance had everything he could ever need.

He had money. Connections. Luxuries.

And yet,

you remained all he could ever want.

That's why he did all that he did, after all.

He bought you anything you even vaguely looked at. He kept you near him always. He'd hold open doors for you, pull out chairs for you.

All so that, maybe, you'd want him, like he wanted you.

He wanted you to want him.

He really,

truly,

did.

And so, when Chance felt your hand slowly trailing upwards, before resting on his shoulder, he could not help but lean into you more.

You were careful, and perhaps even a bit reluctant in your actions, yet not unwilling.

Never unwilling.

"I want you."

Those were the words Chance heard from you.

A quiet exclamation. Almost a whisper, that threatened to be whisked away by the night breeze.

But he heard it anyway.

Of course he did.

And then he'd shift, once more, closer to you. Closer to your lips

And you'd do the same, until you two met.

A careful interaction, being tread lightly by both of you.

This kiss was different from the others.

Not as demanding. Not as bold.

Just there. Simply being. As it is.

"I think I love you," he'd murmur, never quite breaking the kiss and simply mumbling the words into your mouth.

"You're not sure?"

He'd pull back at that, shaking his head slightly.

"No. I am sure... I love you."

And before you could say anything else, his lips were back on yours. His tongue swiped your bottom lip, before shoving its way into your mouth.

He still tasted like the smoke from his cigarette. It was bitter. But it tasted like him.

It tasted right.

"I love you, too," you'd say in-between kisses.

The words left you effortlessly.

You've been meaning to say them for a long time, after all.

Been meaning to kiss him like this.

Like you meant it.

And you did mean it.

As did he.

And you wanted it.

As did he.

[thepinkpanther83]

Grease And Honey (Pt.2 Morning Regular)

Chapter Two: “Morning Regular”

Eddie Munson x Female Reader

Masterlist

Find me on AO3.

Read this story on AO3.

Previous Chapter: Chapter One: "New Girl, Same Grind" Next Chapter: Chapter Three: “Check Engine Light”

Click "Keep Reading" below the cut to read. 😘

Chapter Two: “Morning Regular”

It started with the bell.

Again.

And again.

And again.

You weren’t even surprised the third time Eddie walked in that week. By then, you had his order memorized… black coffee, nothing fancy, just “hot and bitter, like my last relationship,” he’d said the second time, shooting you a crooked grin that had you biting back a smirk of your own.

The first day, sure. You’d chalked that up to curiosity.

The second? Maybe convenience. The garage was only a block away, after all.

But by the fourth morning in a row?

You knew damn well he was showing up for reasons that had very little to do with the bean juice.

He usually didn’t stay long. Just enough time to hover near the counter, ask how your morning was going, make some quip about the music you were playing (“This is either a really depressing breakup playlist or you’ve got deep taste, New Girl”), and toss a crumpled bill into the tip jar without ever looking down to see how much he’d given.

Callie noticed it too.

“That’s like… a twenty,” she whispered once behind the pastry display as Eddie took his usual window seat, one table away from Lorraine’s spy perch, because of course it was.

“Don’t look at it,” you whispered back. “If he sees us reacting, he’ll start putting weird stuff in there just to mess with us. Like a bottle cap. Or a condom.”

Callie stared at you. “Why does that sound exactly like something he’d do?”

You didn’t answer.

Because you were too busy watching him pretend not to watch you.

He’d bring a newspaper or a greasy notebook some days, scrawling something that looked halfway between invoices and lyrics. Sometimes he’d just sit with one ankle propped on his opposite knee, one hand loosely wrapped around his mug, eyes skimming the shop like he was absorbing the walls.

But when you passed by? When you laughed with a customer? When you reached up to adjust the chalkboard or wiped your fingers on your apron?

That’s when his gaze found you.

And lingered.

Just a little too long.

Somewhere around the sixth visit, you stopped pretending it was a coincidence.

He always came in around 9:15. Just after the early rush, just before the moms with strollers and screaming toddlers took over the seating area. Always alone. Always with a new line ready, something stupid, something funny, something that always made you smile even when you didn’t want to.

“This place smells like nutmeg and capitalism,” he said once, sniffing dramatically as he walked in.

You’d glanced up from wiping the espresso machine. “I could say the same about you.”

He’d barked a laugh at that, slid a five into the tip jar, and said, “Keep talkin’ to me like that and I’ll start thinkin’ we’re in love.”

Another time, it was: “Y’know, the longer I drink this coffee, the more I realize I might be in a committed relationship. It’s bitter. It’s complicated. But I keep coming back.”

You tried not to laugh.

You tried not to like him.

But it wasn’t just the sarcasm. Or the grin. Or the way he always left his sunglasses tucked into his collar like he couldn’t decide if he was coming or going.

It was the way he watched you.

Not with that lazy, lustful stare men usually offered when they wanted something they didn’t plan to stick around for, but with real interest. Like you were a puzzle he was still figuring out. Like he wanted to ask you questions he hadn’t decided how to phrase yet.

You found yourself noticing things.

He read, always brought a different book, spine cracked and filled with notes in the margins. His pen was always in his front shirt pocket. You caught him scribbling once and teased, “Writing your manifesto?”

He deadpanned, “Grocery list. But I’ll be sure to include ‘overthrow the government’ just for flavor.”

He lingered longer each day. Some mornings he stayed through the lull. Others he came back after lunch for a second cup and no real excuse. He started asking about your routine. Your favorite tea (you told him), your least favorite customer (you didn’t tell him, but you looked at Lorraine, which got a snort out of him), your taste in music, your childhood dog’s name. He made you laugh. A lot. And he didn’t hide the way he watched you when you did.

Once, you caught him just… sitting there. Mug in hand. Elbow on the table. Chin resting on the backs of his fingers. Watching you sweep the front mat.

“What?” you’d asked, feeling your cheeks warm.

He shrugged. “You clean like you’re mad at the floor. It’s cute.”

You rolled your eyes and turned away before he could see your smile.

You tried, really, tried, not to fall for the charm. But damn it, he was sneaky about it. Funny, yes. Sarcastic, always. But smarter than he pretended to be. You started noticing how quick he was to pick up details, how fast he responded when you mentioned something in passing, your favorite honey blend, the indie band you used to road trip to. Two days later, he showed up wearing their faded logo across his chest like it’d always been there.

You didn’t ask if he’d bought it just to impress you.

You didn’t have to.

Callie caught you watching him once, chin resting in your hand, stirring your tea with lazy circles as he chatted with a biker at the next table.

“You’re toast,” she said simply.

You snapped upright. “Am not.”

She raised a brow and dropped a cinnamon scone in front of you. “I’ve worked here long enough to spot the smitten. Just don’t get too gooey too fast. Hot mechanics have danger written all over them.”

You bit into the scone to avoid answering.

Later that afternoon, Eddie came back for his second coffee. He claimed he “forgot to get something strong enough to survive paperwork,” but you noticed the way he lingered, leaned on the counter like he belonged there, watching the way the light filtered in through the front windows.

“Black coffee and black hearts,” he muttered, eyeing the chalkboard.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing,” he smirked. “Just naming our future band.”

You blinked. “Who said we’re starting a band?”

“I did. You’re the moody frontwoman. I’m the guy who writes all the lyrics and dies mysteriously in a tour bus fire.”

You laughed into your sleeve, shaking your head.

“You’re so weird,” you said.

“I’ve been called worse,” he replied, handing you a ten for a two-dollar coffee. “Keep the change, frontwoman.”

And yeah, maybe your heart fluttered a little as he walked away.

You tried to keep your guard up.

You really did.

But the problem with Eddie Munson wasn’t that he was charming, it was that he was accidentally charming. Offhandedly kind. Casually thoughtful. Like he didn’t even notice he was doing it.

It started small.

One morning, you were mid-rant about the supply order being wrong again, two cases of oat milk and not a single box of chai concentrate, when he walked in, raised one eyebrow, and handed you a to-go cup of tea from the gas station up the block.

“Not as fancy as what you make, but I figured if I heard ‘oat milk’ one more time I might stab myself in the thigh.”

You blinked at the cup. Then at him. “You bought me tea?”

He shrugged. “You sounded like you needed it.”

Didn’t even stay that day. Just tipped his invisible hat like a dork and walked out.

Another time, you were helping a customer with a stroller and didn’t notice the little kid’s blanket had fallen behind them. You didn’t even see Eddie outside. But five minutes later, the door opened and he held it out, folded and dirt-dusted.

“Lil dude dropped this. Figured you’d want to return it before it gets run over by the weird art teacher’s Volvo.”

Then there was the table.

Table Three had a wobble. Always had. You kept meaning to fix it, but it was one of those things you just stepped around. People complained, you apologized, they moved.

But one day, Eddie came in, sat there, leaned back, thunk thunk thunk, then disappeared for a few minutes.

Came back, sat down again.

No wobble.

You peeked under later and found a thin washer wedged perfectly under the short leg.

You didn’t say anything.

But you made sure to bring his next coffee in a really nice mug instead of a cheap one.

“Trying to seduce me with ceramics?” he asked, eyes twinkling.

You just smiled and went back to the register. “It’s on the house.”

And then… there was the door thing.

Every damn time, every time, a woman, an elderly man, a parent with a stroller was within a ten-foot radius of the front entrance, Eddie was there, stepping back, pulling it open, nodding them through like it was just… normal. Like that’s how men are supposed to behave. Not flashy, not performative. Just natural.

Callie saw it too.

“He’s either got the soul of a Southern gentleman or he’s angling for a free sandwich,” she whispered once as Eddie held the door open for a woman carrying three grocery bags and a baby on her hip.

You didn’t say it out loud, but you were pretty sure it was the first one.

Then, one slower morning, as you wiped down the window ledge and he stood at his usual corner table, stretching out a little like he’d just come off a double shift, you asked:

“What’s with the limp?”

He glanced up. “What, this ol’ thing?”

You nodded toward his knee. “You sometimes walk like you’ve either survived a war or forgot how legs work.”

He snorted, took a sip of coffee, then set it down.

“Motorcycle wreck,” he said. “Back in… ‘97, I think. Some asshole ran a red. Wrecked my bike, wrecked my knee, wrecked my summer.”

“Ouch,” you said, cringing slightly.

He shrugged like it didn’t matter. “Could’ve been worse. I still got both legs, and I didn’t die.”

You tilted your head. “You said motorcycle… was that the only injury?”

He grinned, wide and unapologetic. “Oh no. I also tore a ligament stage diving at a Corrosion of Conformity show in Chicago. Three years before that. Landed wrong. Ate shit, and busted my ass real good.”

You blinked. “You’ve injured the same knee twice?”

He held up two fingers and a smug smirk. “Double whammy. What can I say? I’ve always had commitment issues, with common sense.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “That explains a lot.”

He took another sip, watching you over the rim of his mug. “Yeah? Like what?”

You shrugged. “Like why you come in here occassionally limping and flirting instead of resting like a normal person.”

He grinned. “Nah, I’m not normal. I’m memorable.”

And the thing was?

He really was.

He left not long after that.

Drained his mug, flashed that familiar crooked grin, and said, “See ya tomorrow, maybe,” like it was casual, like it didn’t send a flutter through your chest every time he said it.

And then he was gone again.

The bell jingled. The door shut. The street swallowed him whole.

You stood behind the counter, hand wrapped around a lukewarm mug of honeyed tea you’d forgotten to drink, watching the last curl of his silhouette vanish past the window.

It was getting harder not to fall for it.

The charm. The wit. The way he looked at you like you were the only person in the room worth paying attention to.

He made you feel seen, not just looked at, but really seen. Like he was always studying you with that mechanic’s mind of his, figuring out how all your parts fit together and where the cracks were.

And God help you, you liked it.

You liked him.

You told yourself it was just flirting. Just harmless fun to pass the time in a sleepy town with too many gossip circles and not enough good coffee.

But it wasn’t just anything anymore.

It hadn’t been for weeks.

And maybe that was why Lorraine’s words kept echoing in the back of your mind like a leaky faucet you couldn’t quite tighten:

“He’s not the settling down type.”

You didn’t want to believe her. You didn’t want to let the fear crawl in and root itself under your ribs.

But it was there anyway. Just a little.

A question you couldn’t quite shake: Was this who he really was?

The town heartbreaker. The flirty mechanic with commitment issues and a smile he gave away too easily.

Or was he just… misunderstood?

Wounded, maybe. Still recovering from something no one had the right to explain on his behalf.

You didn’t know yet.

But you wanted to.

And that, more than anything, scared you.

Next Chapter: Chapter Three: “Check Engine Light”

Who loves Eddie Munson, show of hands! 😂 Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list! @justalotoffanfiction, @yorshie, @jackalope-in-a-storm, @v1per1ne, @daveythorntonslocker, @cokepowder55, @kelsiegrin, @ash-stardust, @meankenna, @kellsck, @chronicles-of-koystee, @micheledawn1975, @fckyeahlames, @cantstandya2000, @totallysocially

Masterlist

[montywithchildhoodtrauma]

I suppose its been a while since I've forced my SAMS incorrect quotes upon you all...

Except this is all NovaFrost because I can and will die for them.

Nova: Fight me!

Frost: *gets on one knee and pulls out a ring*

Frost: Fight me for the rest of our lives.

.

Nova: That was so hot, Frost.

Frost: I literally called the person who just flirted with you a degenterate dog and told them I hope they get dragged through the streets.

Nova: I'm so in love with you.

.

Nova: What are you planning to do?

Frost: Hey, now. "Planning"?! Do you KNOW who you're talking to?!

.

Nova: Thought I was meowing back at my cat for the past hour, but it was just me and Frost meowing at each other from different rooms in the house.

.

Nova: Just be careful, Frost!

Frost: *heading out the door* I'm always careful, Nova!

Frost: It's everything around me that's careless.

.

Frost: What's two plus two?

Nova: Math.

Frost: ...I will accept that answer.

.

Nova: Remember that time you dared me to lick a swingset?

Frost: No, I said, "Nova, don't lick that swingset," and you said, "Don't tell me what to do," and licked the swingset.

.

Nova, texting Frost: Text me when you’re home safely.

Frost: I’m home dangerously.

Nova: Stop it.

Frost: I’m home lethally.

.

Nova: Are you ready to commit?

Frost: Like, a crime or a relationship?

.

Nova: Is something burning?

Frost, leaning seductively on the counter: Just my desire for you.

Nova: Frost, the toaster is literally on fire.

.

Nova: How do I tell Frost that I want them to yell at me like they're Gordon Ramsay and I'm a poor little chef who just ruined a crème brûlée?

.

Frost: Did you know spiders can hold 8 guns at once?

Nova: How does it WALK??

Frost:

Frost: Did you know spiders can hold 7 guns at once?

.

Nova: *Holding up a pack of pencils* These are kinda cute.

Frost: Nova, that’s gay.

Nova: We’ve been dating for 2 years—

.

Nova: Cause your pretty and your smart, and your ignoring me so your obviously my type.

Frost, who was distracted: I'm sorry- what were you saying?

Nova: Perfect.

.

Nova: I’m in love with you.

Frost: We called off the prank war last night at midnight, dork.

Nova: I know.

Frost: Ah. Okay. Um. Cool. Neat. Very cool. Cool. Cool. Coolcoolcool-

.

Frost: You look mentally ill.

Nova: I am. Let’s go.

.

Nova: Oh, my God. Do you know what this is?

Frost: It’s a book. There’s a lot of those in here. This is a library.

.

Nova: You got a date yet, Frosty?

Frost: No...

Nova: Well, you do now! Get your butt up and hold my hand!

.

Nova: Ha! Don't you know the trappers trap can trap the trapper?

Nova: I must be losing it, I'm quoting Frost.

.

Frost: Do you take constructive criticism?

Nova: Not without crying

.

Nova: I love you.

Frost, not paying attention: What was that?

Nova: I said I’m selling you to the zOo-

.

Nova: Frost, do you love me?

Frost: Of course I do!

Nova: Would you still love me if I did something bad?

Frost: Well, of course I… would…

Nova: I mean something really, really—

Frost: Nova, what did you do?

.

Nova: I want to be with you for the rest of my life.

Frost: Damn, that sounds like a marriage proposal.

Nova, getting down on one knee: That's 'cause it is.

.

Nova: Crushes are the worst. Whenever I’m near mine, I start acting stupid.

Frost: You always act stupid.

Frost:

Frost: Wait...

.

Nova: Shouldn't get stressed out, it's not good for the baby.

Frost: What baby?

Nova, crying a bit: Me.

.

Frost: Hey there demons, It's me, ya boi.

Nova: Frost, NO!

.

Nova: Keep it running. *Tosses keys over shoulder into empty parking lot.*

.

Nova, on the phone: What’s up, Frost?

Frost: I’m sitting in a pool of blood.

Nova: …Um, is it YOUR blood?

Frost: I think so.

Nova: Do you know where the blood’s coming from?

Frost: Probably the stab wound.

Nova: YOU’VE BEEN STABBED?!

Frost: Oh, yeah, definitely.

.

Nova: Remember, when burying a body, make sure to cover it with endangered plants so it’s illegal to dig up!

Nova: Make sure to follow me for more gardening tips!

.

Frost: *shatters a window and climbs through it*

Frost: *turns around and helps Nova through it* Breaking and entering is wrong Nova.

Nova: Okay.

.

Frost: Why are you burning our marriage certificate!?

Nova: Good luck trying to return me without a receipt.

.

Nova: *sharpens knife* We've got ways of making people talk.

Nova: *cuts piece of cake*

Frost: ...Can I have some?

Nova: Cake is for talkers.

.

Frost: So I can either do something dumb that could very well get me injured or I can listen to Nova and not do the thing,

Frost: Well there’s a clear right answer here.

Frost: *proceeds to throw five packs of mentos into a barrel full of diet coke*

.

*Bullying Prevention Day at school*

Teacher: Frost, what would you do if one of your classmates viciously teased you again and again?

Frost: Oh, that’s easy. I’d take a pencil out of my pencil case—

Teacher: To write something to your teacher?

Frost: —make sure that it’s really sharp, and ram it into their eye at full tilt! My mom always says the pencil is mightier than the sword because they can’t outlaw bringing pencils to school!

Teacher: *internal screaming*

.

Nova, cowering in fear: What do you want from me?!

Frost, standing in front of Nova: *bites into the whole KitKat bar like a heathen*

Nova, crying: Please...stop...

.

Nova, holding an antique bottle: Is this whiskey or perfume?

Frost: *grabs and chugs the entire bottle*

Frost:

Frost: It's perfume.

.

Frost: My future partner must be brave, strong, intelligent, successful and organized.

Nova: *steps on a caterpillar and proceeds to drop to their knees and sob while apologizing profusely*

Frost: That one. I want that one.

.

Frost: *dangling from a rope over a pit of fire* Remember when I said I’d tell you when we’re in too deep?

Nova: Yes?

Frost: We’re in too deep.

.

Nova: Hey, wanna hear a funny joke?

Frost: I only like dark humor.

Nova, turning the lights off: What do you call a fake noodle?

Frost:

Nova & Frost: An IMPASTA!

.

Nova: Can you recommend a book that'll make me cry?

Frost: General Mathematics 8th Grade Edition.

.

Frost, sweating: Nova, there’s something I need to ask you-

Nova: Finally! You’re proposing!

Frost: How’d you know?

Nova: Frost, you’ve dropped the ring five times during dinner.

Nova: I even picked it up once.

.

Frost: BE A BETTER PERSON!

Nova: WHY?!

Frost: BECAUSE SOMEONE NEEDS TO HAVE MORALS IN THIS RELATIONSHIP, AND IT SURE AS FUCK AIN'T GONNA BE ME, SWEETHEART!

.

Frost: If I can't cause tiny bits of chaos every day, I think my body will shut down.

.

Nova: What happened?!

Frost: Do you want the long version or the short version?

Nova: Sh-short??

Frost: Shit's fucked.

Nova: Okay, long.

Frost: Shit's very fucked.

.

Nova: Can I have some?

Frost, mouth full of cheesecake: It's really spicy, you wouldn't like it.

.

Frost: *gets set on fire and screams in agony*

Frost: Nah, I’m just kidding. Fire does nothing to me.

.

Frost, singing: ~Hush, little laptop, don’t you cry.~

Frost: ~I'm gonna find you some more Wi-Fi.~

Frost: ~And if that Wi-Fi doesn’t work…~

Frost: ~I will destroy the fucking Earth.~

.

Frost: Nova and I are no longer friends.

Nova: FROST THAT IS THE WORST WAY TO TELL PEOPLE THAT WE’RE DATING!

.

Nova: My level of gay has reached “sighing deeply whenever anything extremely heterosexual happens near me”.

.

Frost: Nova, can you help me? All of my clothes keep disappearing for some reason.

Nova, wearing a hoodie that's 5 times bigger than their size: Spooky.

.

Nova: I only have two emotions: exhaustion and stress. And I’m somehow always feeling both simultaneously.

.

Frost: I love the term 'partners'. Are we dating? Are we robbing a bank? Are we the dedicated detectives who investigate these vicious felonies and are members of an elite squad known as the special victims unit? Who knows.

.

Nova: I have a new hoodie.

Frost: Wrong.

Frost: We have a new hoodie.

.

Nova: Are we fighting or flirting?

Frost: I'm pinning you against a wall with my hand around your neck-

Nova: Your point?

Frost:

Frost: Flirting.

.

Nova: Baby vibes... hold gentle... like hamburger.

Frost: Punt like footb- Baby vibes... hold gentle... like hamburger.

.

Frost: The stars are so beautiful...

Nova: They're just giant balls of gas.

Frost: You know what, if you're just going to ruin this, then-

Nova: And yet none of them are as huge as my love for you.

Frost: Oh...

.

Frost: Working sucks.

Frost: I want to be a malewife where my only responsibilities are being sexy and cute.

.

[foggygauntlet]

I have tried to think why I cannot think of Gaston and lefou happily together, and I think it comes down to that Gaston is just a bad person who has so much power over lefou and lefou is practically defencesless against him, in both brains and strength. He manipulates and abuses lefous friendship (as well as the rest of the town) for his gain because they think he's cool. Also Gaston is just a terrible person, and lefou isn't really (at least, not to Gaston point). He shows some level of sympathy and humanity towards others sometimes, but his major flaw is idolising Gaston, so much that he will follow his with everything he does, which makes him more susceptible to manipulation (like the rest of the town). It's just really toxic and I feel icky thinking about it. (If all of Gaston haters are dead then so am I fyi) They are on just too different positions and there is such a big power difference and Gaston has and will take advantage of that. Also I can't for the life of me ever imagining Gaston being in love with anyone other than himself.

BUT believe it or not, stone and robotnik don't really have that much of a power difference (at least, not by the end of their relationship) and they are both truly evil (also side note it's also a different evil than Gaston. Like, Its genuinely funny with someone who does bad things that inconveniences the goverment or money related crimes or killing people in a goofy manner, not a misogynistic incel who cant take no for an answer) We just never get to see stones evil side because whenever he's always around robotnik he always making puppy dog eyes (Like when in the book he killed a customer who was slightly rude and impatient by breaking his neck at the mean bean lol) Sure, he does idolise robotnik, especially at the start, but he also has a genuine relationship with him, being with him for more that 8 years professionally before s1 and domestically living with him in s3, seeing robontik at his worst. Robotnik is genuine and authentic with stone in the crab as well, its not like they are trying to be someone for their gain. His idolisation never makes him susceptible to manipulation though he is just willingly like that and manipulates for his own advantage too (pre s2 comic he essentially tacticalky kills and fires a bunch of people and ruin their lives to makes himself the boss of this coffee shop so he can make a place for robotniks shit without any suspicion WHILST being a target of gun (I'm not sure if this is correct BUT I know that he uses a fake name and I'd to get the job and Its known that in the knuckles series that gun is trying to kill and erase anyone who has relations with robotnik but that's post s2 so idk) ALSO about the power imbalance, they both seem to be incredibly capable of defending themselves  mentally and physically. Like, in s1 robotnik essentially throws a large guy out a windows, and how stone was able to do all that shit whilst riding a motorbike in s3. Stone is canonically smarter than robotnik (at least iq wise) and is incredible at manipulating people also (take the pre s2 comic (I forgot what its called) for instance). Robotnik grew up in an orphanage ad a gifted child, he was (probably) praised alot as a child but simultaneously craves a family bond. (Side note here more of a hc than anything but gun def did some shit to robotnik after the shadow explosion, like idk maybe they monitored robotnik constantly as a child and used his smarts for their gain, but I don't really know. But they they call robotnik lab rat in s1 so take that and do with it as you please) Also nothing is forcing stone to stay with robontik, he litterally could've let him die and live a grand life or left him in s2 and robotnik wouldn't be able to come back. Stobotnik is essentially just two equally fucked up people being fucked up with each other.

I'm wondering...

[mollysunder]

I will of course be on Mel's side in the ensuing Medarda family power struggle, but if you think about it Mel really does look shady. The rest of her family hasn't seen her in over a decade, and that's because the official story is she was such a disappointment Ambessa exiled her. Fast-forward and not only is Ambessa dead after a period of serious decline for the Medardas to the point that Ambessa left for Piltover in search of aid (hextech), but the family doesn't even get to see the body. Mel hosted a funeral for one and gave Ambessa a burial at sea.

On top of all of that Mel's walking in like Ambessa actually named her heir to the clan, but as far as both we who read "Ambessa: Chosen of the Wolf" and Mel who hasn't spoken to her mother in over 10 years know, no she didn't. To an outside observer it could easily look like Mel killed Ambessa and declared herself as the new matriarch, which ironically, is what a few members think Ambessa did to the previous patriarch (Menelik). It'd be a bit of the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, but also, the tree made a lot of people nervous in the first and didn't like the idea that the tree (Ambessa) murdered it's grandpa (Menelik) either.

Shout out to a new Jinx and Mel parallel! The grief belongs to you and you alone. No one else gets to be at the funeral. Jinx never explained what went down with her and Silco, but Mel would actually have to have a story. I wonder if she'll reveal the Black Rose conspiracy.

[mannequinswithkillappeal]

spot the difference

[clairewritesfanfics]

Villain Creation System Chapter 9

Pairing/s: Invincible x Reader x Invincible Variants

Warning: mild suggestive themes

CHAPTER 8: They Call Him– Series Masterlist <<read the synopsis and trigger warnings first>>

Mark was avoiding you. 

At first you thought that you were imagining it when you saw him on your way to Professor Harper’s lecture and he froze like a deer caught in the headlights before scrambling away, earning the ire of many students when he bumped into them. 

But he did it again–after class, you glanced at his usual chair up at the back. He flinched and practically leapt several steps before shuffling out of the auditorium. He almost knocked the professor onto the floor. It was a sight to behold. You would have laughed if you didn’t feel offended. 

Then, on your way to the library, you saw his reflection on the window panes. When you met his eyes, he spun around and disappeared before you could actually look at him.

You asked the system to show you the affection meter. It was still standing at a solid sixty-five percent.

“Are you sure you’re not broken?” You asked the system.

[Are you sure you don’t just smell like garbage?]

…what was going on in that boy’s head?

***

Mark loved to fuck.

If someone were to ask him what he did to help himself fall asleep, his honest answer would be exercise. 

Fighting bad guys barely broke a sweat but sex exhausted him in the best ways possible.

It was truly fortunate that he had his looks, one of the few good things his parents passed down to him.

He didn’t have a type and he has never said no when a pretty thing batted her lashes at him, which was not everyday but enough that there was an anonymous forum about his sexcapedes. He didn’t care (he cared a little). All the ladies that contributed to the forum had many things to say about him, most were compliments. Others were upset that he stopped doing it with them, but he had to, because while Mark did not object to a casual relationship, there were girls who said they wanted the same thing but clearly expected more. These were the women who saw him as a project, a fixer upper. He understood to some extent. Many novels and movies were about taming the ladykiller and a lot of the ladies he slept with wanted to be the one to tame him. 

But while he can feign romance for the one night stands that wanted the illusion, he was never interested in all the fluffy stuff. He didn’t need any heartwarming dates and cuddles, he wanted someone to warm his bed for a few hours; the chemical surge from sex helped him sleep.

Before he lost his virginity, he stayed awake until the break of dawn and greeted the rest of the day with only two hours of rest. 

But he found himself staying up late for different reasons ever since he entered college, specifically, after he met you. No, not met, he corrected himself, reunited. Although that made it sound like he already had a deep connection with you. In reality, you two were friends in the way office workers were friends; your parents were polite and welcoming to his mom and you were there. You were…just there.

It was normal not to remember much about the past, especially during childhood, but it was weird how Mark couldn’t recall a single unique interaction with you. He had no problem picturing his mom standing over his desk while he did his extra credit work, he can recall his days sneaking out of his room to play with William at the park, he still remembered how he stole a flashlight from his mom so he can read comic books past bedtime. 

You were different. When he saw you at Professor Harper’s class, standing proudly and beaming at the man’s arguments, he knew he had to know you. But then, he fumbled. It was like his brain glitched for a moment. He recognized you. Vaguely. You were that girl from next door. Aside from one very specific memory, he couldn’t conjure anything solid, but his mind told him that you were there; you played with him and William, offered food to his house when your parents made more, lent him your GameBoy and some comic books. But rather than a core memory, you were an afterthought. If Mark had to describe it, remembering you was like looking at a professionally edited photo. 

It was not a big deal. It was weird, don’t get him wrong, and it did catch him by surprise, but it didn’t scare him. But even if they were memories from his childhood, he liked to think that he would remember them better–that he would remember you at least. He remembered William, even when Debbie forced him to stop hanging out with him because “he was a bad influence” and Mark needed to focus on his studies. 

How could he have possibly forgotten about you?

Mark can’t imagine forgetting you. How could he when you kept him up all night? He couldn’t sleep, and even if he wanted to, he couldn’t just go and have some fling to be rid of you. He did consider it though. It was clear that you two were incompatible. He didn’t have girlfriends and he doubted that you were someone who would agree to being friends with benefits with him or anyone. And frankly, if he did get you to agree, he knew in his heart that he wouldn’t be able to remain friends with you.

Seeing you with that Rick–who Mark knew was into guys, but who’s to say he didn’t swing both ways?–it annoyed him. That never happened before. Mark always knew what he wanted and he did his best to communicate that with the women he spent time with; so it didn’t bother him that Amber started seeing someone else immediately after Mark broke off their FWB arrangement and he didn’t care that Eve got together with Rex after Mark told her he didn’t want a girlfriend. He was happy for them, that they found what they were looking for (at least, until Rex screwed up). He didn’t know what a happy relationship looked like. The best he could give them was mind-blowing sex.

Lying in bed, shoulder to shoulder, talking and cuddling… he never saw the appeal until you started showing up in his fantasies. When he caught you chatting with Rick at the food court, he lost it. 

He liked you.

He knew, but he only accepted it when you told him how you felt, well, when you told Invincible.

You liked him, you liked Mark Grayson. This was good news. Objectively. What was he supposed to do with this information? Why did he feel like throwing up every time he saw you?

His inner turmoil was interrupted by his watch buzzing, causing him to knock over his soda and fries onto the Burger Mart floor. 

We need to talk. Meet me at DR 5.

It was Eve.

He was tempted to tell her to just call, because he was in no mood to deal with anyone right now, but since she used the GDA communicators instead of the phone, he figured it must have been something important. He picked up the soda and fallen fries, threw them in the garbage and left a fifty-dollar tip as an apology. 

It was noon so most of the students were at lunch or napping, so the hallway to the discussion rooms were empty.

Mark knocked on the door to DR 5 and opened the door. “Eve?”

She was standing, arms crossed, in front of the whiteboard and next to the miniature podium. “Took you long enough.”

“If you’re looking for a good time, I’m sorry but this one’s temporarily off the market.”

Her eyebrow twitched. “You…”

He shut the door and approached her. “I’m kidding. What is it? Another job–”

“You’ve been acting weird,” she interrupted him. “Why do you keep ignoring her?”

“Who?”

“Don’t act dumb.”

He ran his hand through his hair. “I’m not ignoring her.”

“No, you’re right, you’re avoiding her. What the Hell, Mark?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“No,” a third voice shot through him like lightning. Mark slowly turned his neck and saw you crawl out from under the conference table in the middle of the room. With unhurried movements, you pushed yourself up and dusted your knees before you met his eyes. Your face was unreadable as ever. “But what about me?”

Eve patted his shoulder and whispered, “Don’t screw this up.” She then nodded at you and departed. The slow creaking of the door, followed by the quiet shut had cold sweat rolling down Mark’s back.

He could just run away again. Every atom inside him was on high alert, but he forced his feet to stay where they were. If he went and left you here, he would go from kind of a dick to total asshole in the span of two seconds. 

“H…hey, princess, what’s up?”

You were walking towards him now.

“If I knew you would be here I would’ve flown–ran here as fast as I could.” He took a step back, knocking off the handheld mic from the podium. The speakers screeched from the feedback. 

“Argh!” His hands flew to his ears. 

You were a foot and a half away from him now, but you weren’t stopping, even when you smoothly grabbed the mic, shut it off and put it back on the podium. 

The back of his shoulders hit the whiteboard.

“I-I promise I have an explanation for getting all weird, but right now I gotta go to my next class–”

You slammed your hands beside his ears. “Cut the crap, Grayson.” The whiteboard was still vibrating from the force of your hit. 

You caged him between your arms, leaning so close that he could feel your breath on his skin. 

Anyone else would describe the expression on your face as mildly irritated, but Mark knew that you were furious. “What the Hell is your problem?” Your voice was quiet but firm.  

Shit.

He breathed in slowly. You were too close. 

He needed to calm down before you noticed. 

“Listen, doll, I’ll tell you whatever you want, just… could you just step back?”

You narrowed your eyes. “If you run away–”

“I won’t.”

“No. I can’t trust you, tell me the truth first. Why are you avoiding me like I have the plague?”

Stubborn woman, he thought, but he was chuckling. “Okay. Okay, stay where you are.” He turned his pelvis slightly. “What do you want to know?”

“Why do you keep avoiding me?”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Bullshit.”

He groaned and pressed his butt closer to the whiteboard, hoping to gain some distance, but you infuriatingly leaned closer. 

“I don’t care what other people think of me,” you said suddenly, “but it hurts when someone I considered a friend goes out of his way to dodge me.” 

“Sweetheart–”

“Was it something I did? Something I said?”

He didn’t reply. He was still processing at you admitting that you considered him a friend. He always thought you saw him as that annoying guy you tolerated.

He only recovered when he heard you sigh.

“Why do I even bother?” You stepped back, pulling your arms.

“Wait.” He grabbed your wrist. “It’s nothing you did.”

“Then what?”

He fell quiet.

You sighed again and tugged your arm but he squeezed you softly before covering his mouth and muttering something.

“What?”

He mumbled, his eyes anywhere but on you. 

“Speak up.”

The hand on his mouth dropped limply to his side, revealing his apple-tinted face as he repeated, still unable to look at you, “I like you.”

taglist: @weponxwrites, @ratkidcalledallie, @qxuanii, @lilacoaks, @gluttonousriceflour, @phisen, @sleepyzzz3, @whaaaaaaaaat111, @ik33ponmakingc00ki3s, @lonely-entity, @noxus123

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay, lots of things to deal with IRL and been escaping via video games lolol

Disclaimer: The images used in this post do not belong to writerclaire. They were lifted from the following sources:

Invincible flying

Alternate Invincibles

CHAPTER 10: Coming soon. Series Masterlist

ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊

MAIN MASTERLIST

Any questions for the author? Ask here.

[hislittleraincloud]

No 😌❤️

https://x.com/ajaxpetropolvs/status/1898437718612296004?s=46&t=sjzE9yJDPIIrx07d8gwl7g

I'd love to see it.

*stares* God damb man. Her forward face game is just messed because of the teeny nose.

Also I might as well post this here

🤔

... Shouldn't that little gremlin have done this in preparation for the first season? It's probably why the season sucked. No one looked at the cartoons except to glance at them and affirm that Guzman looked like Gomez.

[adiadagaki]

smitten!sukuna won’t admit he is absolutely enthralled by you, but he sure as hell knows how to show it. You want a vacation? First class flights and a five star hotel are booked. You like that diamond necklace? It’s in a box waiting for you when you get home. You want to spend some time with him? He can destroy that village another week

smitten!sukuna can’t function without you by his side, he always requires your presence no matter where he is or what he is doing, and vise versa. An hour without you is an eternity he would never live through

smitten!sukuna who has already arranged your wedding (something you are ignorant to) and is just waiting for the day you agree to be his bride (he has asked you 50+ times already)

“Come on princess, know you want to be my wife.” Circling your clit with the mouth on his stomach, he pulled out to the tip, his cock throbbing in protest

With tear stained cheeks, you shook your head. “Ryomen… it’s only been six months.” Six weeks. Six months. Six years. What difference did it make? You were his until the universe ceased to exist, in his eyes you may as well just skip a step or two.

But deep down, you already knew your answer, you were just waiting to exploit him a little before you gave into what you both wanted. What was the fun in having a big, burly king at your whim if you couldn’t play him as you pleased?

smitten!sukuna who kills anyone that dare question you in any capacity. You were a Goddess and should be treated as such.

smitten!sukuna had to close his eyes if you ever asked for something he didn’t want to give you. Like a pet. Sukuna hated the idea of sharing you with any one or thing, a furry nuisance included. But he could never say no while looking into those pretty eyes of yours.

smitten!sukuna hosts balls in your honour, flaunting off the pretty little thing he had managed to make all his.

smitten!sukuna who lets you peg him because you asked ever so sweetly.

“But Ryo.” You whined.

That damned nickname softened his will to something weaker than jelly.

“Princess.” He warned, not amused in the interest you had taken in dominating him. Sitting back, you crossed your arms and turned your chin up at him. “No pegging. No marriage.”

His mind had never changed so quickly.

Part 2 Part 3

[anistarrose]

Please don't tune out when you get to the non-partisan section of your ballot this November. First off, where state Supreme Court justices are elected, Republicans are trying their darndest to elect candidates who will destroy reproductive freedom, gut voting rights, and do everything in their power to give "contested" elections to Republicans. Contrast Wisconsin electing a justice in 2023 who helped rule two partisan gerrymanders unconstitutional, versus North Carolina electing a conservative majority in 2022, who upheld a racist voter ID law and a partisan gerrymander that liberal justices had previously struck down both of.

Second, local judicial offices will make infinitely more of an impact on your community than a divided state or federal legislature will. District and circuit courts, especially, are where criminalization of homelessness and poverty play out, and where electing a progressive judge with a commitment to criminal justice reform can make an immediate difference in people's lives.

It's a premier example of buying people time, and doing profound-short-term good, while we work to eventually change the system. You might not think there will be any such progressive justices running in your district, but you won't know unless you do your research. (More on "research" in a moment.)

The candidates you elect to your non-partisan city council will determine whether those laws criminalizing homelessness get passed, how many blank checks the police get to surveil and oppress, and whether lifesaving harm reduction programs, like needle exchanges and even fentanyl test strips, are legal in your municipality. Your non-partisan school board might need your vote to fend off Moms for Liberty candidates and their ilk, who want to ban every book with a queer person or acknowledgement of racism in it.

Of course, this begs the question — if these candidates are non-partisan, and often hyper-local, then how do I research them? There's so much less information and press about them, so how do I make an informed decision?

I'm not an expert, myself. But I do think/hope I have enough tips to consist of a useful conclusion to this post:

Plan ahead. If you vote in person, figure out what's on your ballot before you show up and get jumpscared by names you don't know. Find out what's on your ballot beforehand, and bring notes with you when you vote. Your city website should have a sample ballot, and if they drop the ball, go to Ballotpedia.

Ballotpedia in general, speaking of which. Candidates often answer Ballotpedia's interviews, and if you're lucky, you'll also get all the dirt on who's donating to their campaign.

Check endorsements. Usually candidates are very vocal about these on their websites. If local/state progressive leaders and a couple unions (not counting police unions lol) are endorsing a candidate, then that's not the end of my personal research process per se, but it usually speeds things up.

Check the back of the ballot. That's where non-partisan races usually bleed over to. This is the other reason why notes are helpful, because they can confirm you're not missing anything.

I've seen some misconceptions in the reblogs, so an addendum to my point about bringing notes on the candidates: I strongly suggest making those notes a physical list that you bring polling place with you. Many states do allow phones at the polling place, but several states explicitly don't — Nevada, Maryland, and Texas all ban phones, and that may not be an exhaustive list. There may also be states that allow individual city clerks to set policies.

You should also pause and think before you take a photo of your ballot, because even some states that don't ban phones still ban ballot photographs. But whether it's a photo, or just having your phone in general — in an environment as high-risk for voter suppression as the current one, you don't want even a little bit of ambiguity about your conduct. Physical notes are your friends.

[dollfacefantasy]

caleb x fem!reader

you and caleb used to play fight a lot, but things are different now that you're older

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, fauxcest, dry humping

a/n: um hehe just a small drabble cause i've been thinking... also i like the pipsqueak thing idgaf kiss me about it. imagine this takes place when she’s staying with him.

"isn't this around the time you'd usually cry mercy, pipsqueak?" he breathes, his smooth voice warming the air next to your ear.

a small grunt escapes you as you try to lift your arm to shove him off. your effort is pointless though. his grip tightens around your wrist, and he brings your limb back down to the floor without much effort.

“caleb, quit it!” you whine.

he just laughs at you. his body doesn’t move away an inch. he stays right where he his, hovering over your smaller frame.

the two of you used to play fight all the time as kids. you’d squabble over the remote or your toys. whiny arguments would morph into a small scuffle, a test of wills. so it felt natural today to lunge at him when he held the book you wanted to read just out of reach. getting physical made sense. you’d been so agitated with him keeping you here, you needed to blow off some steam. it just didn’t feel so good when reality set in as he wrestled you down to the floor like always.

“it’s not funny,” you say and try to jam your knee up into his abs.

he dodges the move and continues to smirk at you. “maybe not to you. but it’s pretty funny from up here. pretty cute too,” he teases.

you scowl, squirming some more. in your younger years, you’d always been able to fight back a little. you’d lose in the end, sure, but victory had been in reach a few times. now, caleb is stronger. he’s bigger, and he doesn’t fight like a scrappy high school kid but rather someone with training. you’re starting to realize you have no chance now, and part of you wonders if you ever did. or maybe he’d been going easy on you.

as if to taunt you, he slides your arms up above your head and grabs both your wrists with one hand. even with his other one free, he keeps you pinned with the same amount of force. it’s fucking humiliating. you feel your cheeks starting to heat up as he drags the back of his fingers along your jaw, cooing at you.

“you always used to get so angry like this too. so frustrated. you’d think you would’ve learned not to start fights you can’t win,” he mocks.

his thumb comes to sweep along your cheekbone, back in forth in slow strokes. he stares into your eyes while he does, almost studying you. it gets you heated for a whole other reason you don’t even want to acknowledge.

“get off of me,” you squeak, your voice much less aggressive now.

“maybe i will if you beg enough,” he taunts, “if you use your manners and say please like a good girl, i’ll consider it.”

“shut up!” you say. you kick a few more times and buck your hips to try and get loose.

in response, he grabs your hip with his free hand and slams it back to the ground. you let out a little growl, assuming you’ll have to restrategize. but then he pushes his pelvis down on top of yours.

you gasp. all the fight leaves you in a harsh blow because now, unlike any of the other times you play fought with him, you feel a solid bulge pressing between your legs.

your eyes widen, and you sputter. you’re sure you look totally stupid right now. but you don’t know what else to do. there’s no question about it. he’s got a boner, and he’s rubbing it right up against you.

“i told you. you’re not gonna win. might as well surrender,” he says. he speaks in a completely even tone, as if nothing is different.

“c-caleb. what are you doing?” you start, “don’t be weird.”

“i’m not being weird,” he defends with feigned innocence, “we always used to mess around like this. what’s got you all shy now?”

you know why he’s asking. because he knows you won’t say it. the answer is so easy, yet you can’t bring the words to leave your lips.

“you know what,” you whine softly.

he chuckles and leans in even closer to your face. “maybe i do. but i don’t think that it’s weird. we’re not kids anymore. you can’t whine and wriggle around like that and expect me not to react,” he murmurs.

your heart beats harder in your chest. you can feel every thump. before you can say anything in return, he grinds his hips again, rolling his hardened length right up against you. and this time, it feels good.

“i- caleb- we can’t,” you whimper, biting your lip.

“we can’t? we can’t what? we’re not doing anything,” he says before grinning at you, “it doesn’t count if it’s over the clothes.”

you want to smack him, but both your arms are still immobile.

“it’s still weird. we’ve never- i don’t see you like this,” you insist, though the last statement is a complete lie.

he tsks and shakes his head before pushing his erection between your legs for another time. this one draws a whine out of you. his hips jump forward at the sound, but he doesn’t let his face show that burst of desire.

“what do you see me like then?” he whispers.

silence fills the air between the two of you as you fail to answer. you know what you see him as. you know your crush on him goes back years. you know what fantasies fill your head at night when you’re alone.

but you also know how you want to see him. what you’re supposed to see him as. what you’ve tried to limit his role to for so long.

“it’s ok,” he finally says, “i won’t make you say it if it’s that hard. but i know you like this. i know you, remember?”

he grinds against you again, but this time it’s not only once. now he sets himself into a rhythm, consistent swings of his hips against your center.

“i know when you’re happy, when you’re sad, when you’re ashamed,” he says, “i know when you want something, but you’re too scared to ask.”

ducking in, he kisses your neck. you moan in response, putting no effort into suppressing the noise now.

“that’s right, princess. your big brother knows you better than anyone, doesn’t he?” he coos mockingly.

“caleb!” you whine. you internally cringe at both titles, but outwardly, your face still contorts with pleasure.

“what?” he laughs, “that’s what you were gonna say before, wasn’t it?”

“but i didn’t,” you whimper.

“but you thought it, and it’s all the same to me,” he teases.

he refocuses his mouth on your neck again. his lips move over the column of your throat while his cock continues pressing right on your pussy. it feels better by the second. maybe it’s because he’s kissing your neck too, you’re not really sure. all you know is the hot, sparkling feeling in your stomach is building.

nipping at your pulse point, he then sucks on the skin like he wants to leave a mark. his tongue laves at it for a few moments before he pulls off.

“i’m gonna let go of your arms. you’re gonna behave, ok?” he mumbles against your skin.

“mhm,” you whimper and nod. the overt submission feels pathetic, but losing the feeling of him would be even worse.

“good girl,” he praises.

he keeps his word and releases his hold on your wrists. the air feels cool on your skin that’s all warmed up from his hands. now with his other arm in use, he can snake one around your ass and boost your hips. the new angle allows him to thrust against you harder.

“fuck, baby,” he grunts. you feel his lashes brush your neck as his eyes flutter.

your arms loop over his shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer. more little mewls spill from your lips. you can feel his stiff length sliding right up against your folds through your clothes. every swipe brings a blissful burst of friction to your poor throbbing clit.

“there you go. i got you. big brother’s got you,” he mumbles mindlessly. he chokes out a moan into your shoulder as his hips move like they have a mind of their own.

your body starts to squirm more. that hot feeling inside is reaching a boiling point. you clutch at his shirt, your nails digging in so hard they threaten to tear the fabric. the constant push and pull of his lower half is nearly hypnotic. it seems like you’ll be under him forever while also on the brink of letting go.

after a few moments more, he pulls back to look at you. his eyelids hang low, heavy with his desire for you.

“god, you’re so pretty. so fuckin’ beautiful now,” he says and presses his forehead to yours. his eyes shut while your breaths mingle. “i knew you wanted this too. just look at you. almost falling apart, and i haven’t even really touched you. i knew no one else could do this better.”

all you can do is whimper softly and cling to him harder. you pull on him as if trying to pull him into your body, to meld your two beings into one. the pressure down below feels dull and muted, but it’s blooming nonetheless.

“yeah… you’re gonna cum all over your pretty panties,” he mutters, “get ‘em all nice and wet so i can have some fun with ‘em later.”

“caleb…” you whine, useful words falling out of your grasp in this moment. one of your hands flies up and laces in his hair. your fingers clench into a fist, giving the strands a sharp tug.

he groans and bucks his hips extra hard. “c’mon. cum for me, baby. let me make my sweet little angel cum,” he murmurs.

it really doesn’t take much to get you there. the friction burn he’s rutting you both into works, and you feel yourself hit the high. euphoria rushes through you. a little breathy whine erupts from your lips. your back arches off the floor, but he keeps you cradled against him securely.

the whole time you’re cumming, he’s still humping you like his life depends on it. it’s when you start to come down, that he finally explodes. he buries his face in your neck, letting out the loudest moan you’ve heard so far. his arms tighten up around your frame as his fingers dig into your malleable flesh.

his hips jolt forward in random twitches now, chasing the last remnants of release while he spills inside his pants.

when he’s done, his breaths are harsh and labored. he nuzzles the crook of your neck before kissing your cheek and receding off your body. his palm runs over his face lazily.

“fuck, i gotta change now,” he says, not bothering to look down at the dark patch at the front of his pants.

without even really thinking about it, you reach forward for the waistline. you’re already craving more of him. but before your hand can get there, he takes your wrist.

“not so fast, pipsqueak. i think you should actually beat me before i let you have the real thing,” he smirks.

[ohnoitstbskyen]

Ok so I’ve had this question for a while and I feel like you’ll be able to give me a good answer. I understand that we’re absolutely not supposed to support anything JKR does monetarily and I never intend to do so. However is engaging with Harry Potter media *at all* also something I should not do or is it only things that give her money?

Like, would there be anything wrong with me playing Hogwarts Legacy if I pirated it? Is fanfiction and fan art ok to consume? Or is engaging with the IP at all going to be harmful in a way that I don’t see atm?

Thank you for your time!

I don't really think a cis person is the right person to ask about this, but I also know that trans people are sick to death of having to field these questions so I'll do my best to answer this, if everyone who reads my answer will promise me that you will NOT use anything I say in this post as an annoying argument against a trans person who has a different opinion on the matter. Remember whose opinions are actually important here.

And look, number one, you can do whatever the fuck you want. Nobody can stop you. If you, in yourself, in your soul, feel morally comfortable consuming Harry Potter by some convoluted method of Ethical Consumption™, then go and do that, and own it, and have the strength to be judged for your decisions.

Trans people might not trust you - hell, I'll probably not trust you either. They might get angry at you, and criticize you, or roll their eyes and call you a fucking loser. If you have the moral conviction that what you are doing is right, and that you are acting in accordance with your beliefs and you are not doing harm, then stand by that conviction and face the consequences. Have that strength of character.

But if you feel the need to go around posting and arguing that it's unfair, that you shouldn't be judged, that you should get to be a special exception and people are unreasonable when they get mad at you... then that is evidence, proof positive, that you are a fucking loser. That you are cowardly, and you don't actually believe that what you are doing is right, you just want the world to affirm your fragile ego while you enjoy your little treats.

To be clear, I am not accusing you of doing this (you seem to just earnestly be asking for guidance), but there's a hell of a lot of people who do do this, and you don't want to be one of them.

So that's number one. Do whatever the fuck you want, and face the consequences with a spine.

Number two is... just fucking drop it. That is my earnest advice to you. Just fucking drop Harry Potter. They are children's books from the early 2000s, they just are not that fucking good or important. The Hogwarts Legacy game is live service slop; the movies are passable at best and their quality comes from the actors being better than the source material. Just drop it. Harry Potter has nothing to offer that you can't get elsewhere from better media with better authors, or problematic authors who have good grace to at least be dead.

Don't waste your life thinking about complicated ways to circumvent the moral problem of JK Rowling's rancid transphobic hate-aura at the center of the franchise, don't waste your finite time on Earth trying to thread that stupid needle. Harry Potter isn't worth this. Rowling is old, and shriveling from hate and mold fumes, at the very least just wait for her to fucking die, and for her political project to fail, before you pick that world back up again.

I speak as someone who read the first book at age 11, hyperfixated on relating to Harry, and whose entire cultural life was consumed by the franchise for over a decade. It is not worth it. You don't need it, you don't need the stress of trying to navigate how or whether to engage with it ethically. You almost certainly have an enormous backlog of other books, games, movies and TV shows you've been meaning to get around to, so just go do that instead. I promise you it will be infinitely more rewarding, and infinitely less compromised by stress and guilt and cognitive dissonance.

And while you're at it, send some money to a trans charity and go scream invectives at a transphobic politician some time.