#but i know its more of a forensic thing than this

[not-psychotic]

[sagxshi]

i fucking hate everything about applying for mcat fee assistance this shit fucking sucks fuck the aamc

[willieverseetheland]

jingle bells.

spencer reid x fem!reader summary: spencer gets a little too tipsy at the office christmas party.

WARNINGS: alcohol consumption, language, spencer being a dork

fluff, mutual pining, friends to lovers

I know christmas has been over, I just felt inspired.

wc: 1.4k

You've always loved Christmas. It wasn't the holiday itself; it was how it brought people together. Everything just feels so cozy and bright. So when Penelope asked you to help her decorate for the party, you were more than happy to do so.

Although your job can be very depressing at times, the office environment is truly amazing. Everyone is so kind. You couldn't ask for better coworkers. However, there's one fellow profiler you've grown rather close with these past few months.

Spencer Reid was one of the first people you became friends with at the BAU, other than Penelope of course. He's such a good friend, and always seems to be genuinely interested in what you have to say. He notices the little things, like when you were always complaining about your feet being cold, so he bought you fuzzy socks. Or when he overheard you talking to Emily about how badly you wanted this decorative plate set for your new apartment, and he got it for you for your birthday. He's truly the best friend a girl could ever ask for. But recently you've been wondering if it's only platonic love that you feel. Could it be more than friendship? You find yourself putting extra effort into your appearance, but you just chalk it up to wanting to better yourself. You have also noticed how when you shop, you choose clothes you think he might like.

Sometimes you catch yourself wondering if he feels the same way. Does he lie in bed at night thinking of your voice and laughter the way you think of him? Does he get flustered when your knees brush together during debriefs? Does he get that fluttery feeling in his stomach when you lock eyes from across the room?

Now that you're thinking about it, you really fucking like him. You feel like a teenager with a schoolgirl crush. God, how could you let this happen? You know that co-worker relationships rarely work out. But you're an adult, you can be mature about it, right?

You snap out of your daydream and realize its already 6:00. The party starts in an hour, and you only have a quarter of what you need to do done.

"Hey Penelope, think we could get some Christmas music going? I work faster with music playing!"

"It's like you read my mind y/n!"

The sound of bells fills the room and suddenly you find yourself feeling very festive. You hear Penelope humming along.

You work quickly to get the last of the lights and tinsel strung up. You wish it could look like this year-round. You check your watch. 6:53. Everyone should be arriving soon.

You hear the elevator ding and see Derek walk out with a plate full of what is most definitely store-bought cookies.

"Wow, you ladies really outdid yourselves."

"Hello Derek and thank you" you smile.

People begin to arrive one-by-one. Emily, JJ, Hotch, and Rossi. Everyone says their hellos and get settled. Some make their way to the booze faster than others.

It's 7:25 and Spencer isn't here yet. You feel a pit begin to form in your stomach. You were really hoping to see him tonight. You decide to grab yourself a drink and socialize, take your mind off of him. He'll show up eventually, right?

"Y/N! Hey! Where's your other half?" Emily chuckles and raises her eyebrows. You can tell she snuck a few shots in the elevator.

"I assume you mean Spencer. Not sure actually." So much taking your mind off of him. And what did she mean by other half? It's not that obvious right?

You scan the room, hoping to see Spencer, but you don't. However, you do catch Rossi getting rather comfortable with new forensic photographer.

You finish your drink and wander off to get another. Looking at your watch you see that it's 7:47. You're starting to feel a little hopeless. But right as you turn to rejoin the party, you see him. Those big brown eyes and fluffy hair.

"Hey Y/N, sorry I'm late. I had to go pick up some last-minute gifts."

Weight falls off of your shoulders at the sound of his voice. You feel overwhelming relief now that he's here. You had spent the last hour, or at least what felt like an hour, with your jaw clenched and a heavy feeling in your stomach. You hate feeling this way. You know you need to talk to him, but you don't want to screw up a good thing.

"It's alright Spence, I'm just glad you're here now." You give him a warm smile and place your hand on his shoulder.

He gives you his classic dorky smile in return, and you feel those all too familiar butterflies swell in your stomach.

As the night goes on, the wine flows and sounds of laughter fills the room. You stay by Spencer's side practically the whole night. Now you understand what Emily meant. You notice he's had quite a bit to drink. Definitely not more than Rossi, but more than usual. You feel like he's being more playful and affectionate as well. But you assume it's just the alcohol. You desperately hope he's flirting, but you don't want to look too far into it.

Your thoughts quickly dissolve into the air as the room goes silent and Rossi's rather loud voice announces it's time to exchange gifts. You give out your gifts and accept the ones given to you. You receive a cinnamon roll scented candle from Emily, a pair of heart shaped earrings from Penelope, a fuzzy blanket from JJ, and various trinkets and gadgets from others. Spencer hands you a slender box wrapped in shiny blue snowflaked wrapping paper.

"I wonder what this could be." You raise your eyebrow playfully and give a small laugh.

You carefully tear off the wrapping paper and open the box. Inside is a necklace with small heart shaped locket.

"Go ahead, open the locket." he has a drunken grin, and his eyes are eager.

You open the locket and inside is a picture of you and Spencer from your birthday. You feel a warmth spread over your face and you can't help but smile.

"Oh my god Spencer, this is- thank you so much, really." You pull him into a tight embrace. Relishing in the feeling of his arms around you for just a moment. You pull away, smile faltering slightly.

"Would you walk with me? Outside? It's really warm in here." His eyes are glassy and his cheeks are a rosy pink. His drinks have definitely caught up with him now. No wonder he feels warm.

"Of course, are you feeling okay?" you ask with sincerity.

"Yeah, there's just a lot of noise. Just need some fresh air s'all."

You two slip out into the crisp, December night. The sky's clear so you can see the stars. Your breath creates mini clouds in the night air.

You look over at Spencer and wonder what's going on inside that brilliant brain of his. You've always been so fascinated by the way he thinks.

"You look so beautiful right now. I-I mean you always do, but in this moment you..." his voice trails off like he has more to say, but doesn't know if he should say it.

"You don't look too bad yourself." You let out a quiet laugh.

You can hear carolers singing jingle bells in the distance.

You glance up at him and see that he's looking at you. His eyes reflect the full moon. There's a sadness in his eyes but also an admiring, soft expression.

"y/n."

"Yeah, Spencer?" You place your hand on his forearm. His mouth opens and closes slightly like he doesn't know if he should say what he's about to say.

"I love you. I'm in love with you, y/n." his voice is soft and trembling ever so slightly. His eyes jump across your face, searching for a reaction.

You feel like your brain might short circuit. You're overwhelmed with emotion. You feel a sting as your eyes prick up with tears.

"Spencer, I don't know what to say." You see his smile fade and fear that may have been poor choice of words.

You decide maybe words won't do how you feel justice.

You step closer to him, placing your right hand on his cheek and the left just below his jaw. You breathe in deeply and pull his face to yours. You place a soft kiss on his lips. He then grabs the sides of your face deepening the kiss. You feel heat creeping up your neck, and the whole world feels as though it's melting away.

You pull away, catching your breath. He looks starstruck, like he can't believe what just happened. And honestly, you can't either. You almost want to ask him to pinch you.

"I love you too, Dr. Spencer Reid."

[sp0-t]

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐋

PoliceForce!141 x VictimsPartner!Reader

warnings - murder(er), descriptions of a crime scene, blood, not really gore, loss of a loved one.

summary - the investigation of an arising serial killer has every civilian on their toes, however it has a whole police precinct in even more of an erratic frenzy. The police force assigned to the job get the call that yet another body has been found, most likely another victim of the recent killer. The body count is high, but the tensions are even higher…

💿 (a/n) - it’s finally here!! Long awaited first post of this most likely very long ongoing series. The reader doesn’t really come out in this part but bear with me they will be out in the next! I hope you will stick around for future parts and other works in general. If you’re new to my page or this story in general, Hi! Welcome! If you’ve been following along with my updates and my page, thank you for sticking around! And I look forward to seeing you! Most importantly I hope you all enjoy and stick around some more!

prologue/ ➤ part one / part ???

2… 3… 5… 8…? How many would you leave this time, you didn’t know. You were on 10 now, how many did it take till you got bored of this one too? This one wasn’t as fun, this one didn’t put up a fight, this one took all the fun out of it. It was too easy honestly, it made you bored, easily. You stopped yourself at 23, sighing as you stood up.

You walked over to the trash can lazily taking off your gloves, making sure to engulf the knife in both gloves before begrudgingly tossing it into the tiny metal tin trash can. The metal bang rang through the small office space as you walked to the door. You pull out a cloth from your pocket before turning the doorknob and heading out the door.

“What was his name again?”

The sound of stretching as he pulls the blue latex gloves over his hands quickly dissipates while approaching the house's front door.

“Darren Boyle, he’s some rich big-time director of a construction company.”

“…Is there a reason you’re telling me this man’s finances?”

“Yeah, actually…”

The EMT halts her walking and hands the report to him

“Nothing was taken from the home, no money, no belongings, nothing.”

He takes the report and looks it over.

“Yet he still has 23 knife wounds all over his body”

The walk to the office space was short and brief, with multiple people at the crime scene, and multiple things happening all at once. The flash of the camera, the sound of plastic evidence bags, and the smell… that smell, that concoction of iron and decay that permanently scars the nose with its presence alone.

The rest of the force was already present at the scene littered around, each doing different tasks.

Officer Kyle “Gaz” Garrick, is probably the smartest in the entire county. From someone who started as a mere medical student, that ended up not being able to bear the weight of being the cause of a lost human life, went to become someone who brought “life” and justice to the lost and their families. He is the forensics specialist of the team, offering his smarts and intuition to the force. Gaz can pronounce the cause of death by a simple examination of the body, as well as match DNA evidence to a perpetrator, blood, fingerprints, spit, etc.

Officer Johnny “Soap” McTavish, investigator as well as one of the best interrogators, right behind Officer Riley. Soap used to be a big-time private investigator sometimes, often, closing cases faster than the police department itself. This eventually led to the police department trying to recruit, and find, Soap to their forces for his high investigator talent, which landed him with the force, after a very eventful high-speed chase…

Officer Simon “Ghost” Riley, aka. death reincarnated. Was discovered from his time as a mercenary, and would finish any job no matter the morals or ethics involved. The blood from his past haunted him, when he retired from his brutal position, he discovered his now-current sheriff. Who heard his story and convinced Ghost to come out of his early retirement and become a detective. Ghost took this offensively at first, seeing the offered position as some type of “downgrade”. He ended up convinced into the position and is now one of the most well-known detectives in the nation.

That leaves the sheriff…

“Sheriff Price. It’s been a while, although I’d prefer if we didn’t have to meet under these circumstances.”

“Laswell, always good to see a familiar face. Although I'd have to agree, these circumstances aren't exactly.. ideal.”

“A killer in your part of the city. A serial.. killer.”

She says the last part while narrowing her eyes behind her shoulder at the now dead body

“So”

She says with her head still facing the body

“Whats your plan.”

It wasn’t a question.. it was a demand

She turns her head, her frustrated look now landing on the sheriff.

“To catch this prick.”

They both made heavy eye contact with each other. Trying to square up the other with their looks alone, the tension rising. that is until they are interrupted

“Sheriff! You have to see this.”

A shout from Gaz, across the home office. Price’s attention immediately being stripped away from Laswell and reattaching to his officer

Gaz stands from his crouched position near the victim’s desk, the Sheriff joining his side to glance at what he had found. In Gaz’s hands was a piece of paper, one that had been splattered in blood, It wasn’t just paper, it was a note.

… a note for the Sheriff

written by: @sp0-t ©️

[howtofightwrite]

Most traditional boxing instructors will tell you that if the opponent is taller than you, has longer arms than you, or is heavier than you, you're fucked and you need to stay extremely aware and work really hard to compensate for all the advantage he has over you.

In a recent forensic survey, it was determined that most traditional boxing instructors who get into real world altercations die when they're shot in the head.

This is the problem with a lot of these kinds of arguments. No one practices traditional boxing. At least, no one does so publicly. How do I know this? Because traditionally boxers fought in the nude. Yeah, we're not seeing that, are we? Now, maybe they meant bare knuckle boxing, but really no one does that either, these days. Boxing without safety equipment is not a particularly good idea, for fairly obvious reasons.

The only reason the word, “traditional,” is in the ask is to lend their statement unearned credibility. It's an attempt to make their statement sound more authoritative, without offering any evidence to support the statement.

Who said that?

“Traditional people did.”

Okay, but, 'traditionally,' people cleaned shit off their ass with a stick. So, maybe appealing to Hellenic sports isn't the best gauge of how a fight will play out.

Also, I know I just said it, but, who are these authoritative sports guys? Because they're not named. We're simply told, “most,” of them agree. Which starts to sound a lot like “four out of five dentists agree.” Who are these instructors? What do they teach? Why are the currently in prison for indecent exposure? And how much did you pay them to get their uninformed opinion? Salient questions which may need to be answered, if the original question wasn't invalid on its face.

Why do I say it's invalid?

Because boxing isn't fighting.

Boxing is a sport.

Boxing has rules.

Kick your opponent in the groin, or shin, and you're punished.

Step on their foot, push them, and watch them tumble to the ground before you start stomping on them, and you'll be punished.

Throwing your opponent will be punished.

And of course, as mentioned at the top, pulling out a gun and expanding your opponent's mental horizons is extremely frowned upon.

These are all things that can happen in a real fight.

These are all things that do not benefit from increased height or reach.

There is one genuinely accurate statement. In a fight, you do need to be very aware of what's going on around you. Everything else is the product of someone who's been punched in the head repeatedly until the CTEs got them thinking that boxing is analogous to a real fight in any way. (And, statistically, will probably end their career sitting in a jail cell over an aggravated assault charge, because their emotional self-control was completely destroyed by those same head injuries.)

The rules that boxers need to follow are designed to (somewhat) protect the participants. It reduces the dangers of a boxer being killed in the ring. In an observation that I would hope to be self-evident, those rules don't exist in actual combat.

It's also amusing, because the original Asker had to go so far as to single out an ill-defined, “traditional” boxing, because no other martial art they checked gave them the soundbite they wanted.

And, of course, women box. Historically, you could say, “traditionally,” there were even boxing matches between men and women. It wasn't until the 1880s that women were excluded from competitive boxing in the UK. (I'm not sure of the exact date when women were banned from boxing in the US, though that prohibition lasted for less than a century, before the modern return of women to the sport.)

So, either these “traditional instructors” don't know the history of their own sport... which doesn't sound particularly “traditional” to me, or they're full of shit.

My advice to everyone would be, maybe, don't take the advice of a sports coach about how he's secretly an absolute badass in all the delusional fantasies he's cooked up about how he'd like to inflict violence on others because they wouldn't date him.

-Starke

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[pinkhairedlily]

“I hope you forgive me for intruding.” Sakura’s former mentor sits at her desk. Tsunade still looks like she never ages, but Sakura notes the fine lines that sprinkle her temple. There are things that Tsunade has allowed to be—like time.

“You’re never a stranger.” Sakura approaches her for a hug. “Sorry about the mess, I finished at midnight.” Open scrolls on medicinal innovations litter her usual squeaky clean desk. 

Tsunade rolls her eyes and smirks, “Honey, have you seen mine?"

“Well, compared to Kakashi and Naruto, you did fine.”

Tsunade’s sight lingers on the edge of the files. Sakura traces her eyeline and sees what caught her attention. She fakes a laugh and tries to sweep the letter under another larger scroll.

“He’s writing?”

“To them.” Sakura notes the disbelief in Tsunade’s inquiry that bubbles under the surface. “Not to me.” She just basically told Tsunade that she steals these letters from her other teammates. Not that they would notice anyway, and sometimes Kakashi leaves them on her table.

Her mentor shrugs and throws an arm over her shoulder. They watch the cherry blossom tree outside of the office, long beyond its flowering season, but still a sight to behold. “Makes sense, considering how he writes.”

“It’s sparse, but he has always been economical that way.”

Tsunade stifles a laugh. “Didn’t I teach you about forensic handwriting?”

Sakura shakes her head, unsure of the conversation’s direction.

“Sasuke writes fast. His letters overlap, almost unintelligible, but whenever your name is mentioned, each stroke becomes heavier, bigger, leaves a more lasting imprint on the scroll. He’s also experiencing some intense feelings. It’s intentional, the way he writes about you.”

“What do you make out of it?”

“Like you give him peace.”

Sakura could only laugh. “I don’t….receive letters yet.”

“You’ll know when it comes.”

When her first letter lands on her windowsill a month later, Sakura notes the difference in handwriting. She asks him about it when he comes home and he asks her to go with him on a hike. On top of a hill overlooking the village, a picnic spread under them, a bracelet of forget-me-nots in progress in his hand. 

“Do you use different pens?” she jests.

“For one thing, you’re more critical with things like handwriting than the two. You often complained of Iruka's style, didn't you?” Sasuke replies. He uses his mouth to close the string of flowers, and gives them to her. “I just also like writing your name.”

She wears the bracelet nonetheless but feels as if it’s her heart dangling on her sleeve with the way his answer left her unsatisfied.

“But not as much as I love saying it,” Sasuke adds, staring at her now and the way the afternoon sun paints her skin. “Sakura.”

[gildedlead]

All of the Wayne kids’ favorite Leaguers: True and Real and Accurate

Dick: Wonder Woman! Bear with me. Please. I think Superman was his favorite BEFORE he met Clark. Once he learned how big of a dork he was, the magic was sort of lost, doubly so when Clark became his unofficial stepdad. Diana? She stayed cool. Not to mention that in his Robin days, she often humored whatever hare-brained impulses he’d get. Please picture Batman’s bewildered expression when he finds Dick dangling from the Watchtower light fixture he specifically designed to be impossible for him to reach. Diana just, -shrug- “He said please.” You threw him Diana. You threw that child. She’d probably still throw him if he asked nicely, hell, she’d probably do it even before he has to ask. It’s ‘Boy Wonder’, not ‘Boy Bat’.

Jason: Black Canary. ‘Wonder Woman is Jason’s fav’ believers PLEASE hear me out. I think that Diana is Jason’s favorite in a ‘celebrity crush’ way, but Dinah is Jason’s favorite in a ‘cool aunt’ way. He met her unofficially at the Watchtower, but actually started hanging out with her thanks to Roy. They both like motorcycles and kicking ass, plus Young Justice having Canary as a therapist melds well with my vision of her helping Jason heal. And I think she’s used to yelling at Bruce on Oliver’s behalf, so it’s no big to do it on Jason’s too.

Tim: The Flash! If Dinah is the cool aunt, Barry is the cool uncle. Guy that shows up at the function with all the best snacks. He might eat half of them himself but damn if he didn’t bring them. In all seriousness, Tim saw pretty great merit in knowing a forensics guy that he can basically talk to anytime he’s stumped with a case without having to go through the “sorry to wake you” song and dance. Barry occasionally gets unhinged texts that are in the vein of “hey can you go about ten minutes back in time and tell past me about _____”. They’re usually pretty low stakes but sometimes there’s just a “got stabbed, do-over?” jumpscare sprinkled in. Bruce will never ever get shit from Barry about kid troubles. That man is a saint in Flash’s eyes.

Cass: Captain Marvel. She didn’t like him at all during their first meeting. For a person that’s good at reading body language, I imagine that seeing genuinely childish behavior on a grown man would be giving some crazy mixed signals. Once she learns that his powers are magic in origin rather than being alien or meta, her mind opens up a little more to the possibility that his exterior appearance might not be indicative of his actual identity. Cass guesses his age by their next proper meeting and makes it her business to keep an eye on him, always asking Bruce about him after he returns from League missions. Your honor, that 7’5” brick wall Champion of Magic is actually just Cass’ little buddy. She’s gonna get him some ice cream or something.

Steph: Green Lantern. Hal and Barry are like uncles, except if Barry is the cool one, Hal is the cringe one. Lucky for Hal, being a boyfailure is a good way to amuse Steph. Those two are gonna spend hours arguing with Bruce just for the hell of it, backing each other up on completely incorrect claims (Steph does it because it’s funny, Hal does it because he believes her). He does get bonus points for bringing her cool space snacks whenever he comes back from trips off-world. One of her favorite foods is a sort of hi-chew/gum thing from some other planet in Sector 2418 that doesn’t dissolve or lose its flavor, even after chewing it for days on end.

Damian: Aquaman. He’s a king. Like, an actual king. And he can communicate with fish. Arthur heard about Damian’s temper from the rest of the Leaguers and straight up does not believe it because every time he’s spoken to Damian, it’s been “hello your majesty can you introduce me to an octopus I have a few questions for it”. This one’s short. But I feel it speaks for itself.

Duke: Superman. Clark was NOT told about Signal taking up the day shift in Gotham until he was flying in to compare notes (read: flirt), with Bruce and met Duke when they both went to intercept a carjacking. Clark tries to be responsible like “I feel obligated to let you know that Batman doesn’t take kindly to metas in his city”, only for Duke to point at the big ol bat on his chest. After that, Duke usually intercepts Big Blue’s flight path anytime he comes into Gotham and the two just kind of hang out and shoot the shit while he does his patrol. Duke is also a little bit stoked to be regularly hanging out with The Superman, but even after the awe wears off, he can’t help but still think of Clark as just a cool, friendly guy. He gets someone to share the airspace with, Clark gets a bat he can stay in the sun with, it’s a win/win all around. Congrats Clark, you got one.

[doberbutts]

just a random guy w no stake in this but yr guy also fully regurgitated israel’s/zionist lies abt the “””misfired rocket””” hitting the hospital as if there isn’t documented evidence of israel admitting to - wanting to do that - doing that - expressing joy at the fact that they did that. the israeli govt spent days saying they were gonna bomb a hospital, bombed a hospital, /said they bombed the hospital/, and then changed their story to “misfired rocket” among other things (not a single hamas rocket is capable of that kind of destruction…) when they got flack for it. and Avi has yet to retract that statement despite it being another blatant lie from the israeli govt.

& obv this is much smaller but when pointed out that what ngaiman said that was zionist (“israel has the right to exist”, which he reconfirmed was still his stance), avi doubled down on that…not being zionism. and said ppl only call gaiman a zionist bc he’s jewish (which.. sure some ppl do, but the claim that a settler colonial state (or any state, tbh) has an inherent “right” to exist, and specifically that Israel has a “right” to exist, is literally zionism. which avi seems to think is not.)

i don’t think he’s a zionist himself but he certainly repeating a lot of zionist bs uncritically

I literally just got an article this morning talking about the forensics going on regarding the hospital bombing, from CNN, citing multiple sources saying the same thing; that it was a misfired rocket originating from somewhere in Gaza and probably not intentional, with all parties with munitions denying that it was theirs despite the firing of rockets nearby from all of said parties. No shrapnel or casings have yet been recovered and until that is recovered there is no way to know for sure where the device was made or where it came from.

So unless you are leaning on the antisemitic claim that Jews control the media, either all of CNN's sources are wrong including the Palestinian ones, or he's literally just repeating what multiple sources have been saying as of this morning.

Also conveniently you're leaving out that he's also stated that it doesn't matter where the device came from, the targetting of hospitals and other civilian centers is abhorrent and an immediate ceasefire needed to be called the moment it happened. Weird how he's not praising it, he's stating what the forensic team on site is reporting, and he's stating that no matter who is at fault they shouldn't be involving peaceful civilians.

As for whether or not Israel should exist... where exactly do you want the Israelis to go? A significant number of them were born there, with ancestors that originated there, as Arabic people living alongside Palestinians. They do have just as much right to be there as Palestinians because they have common ancestry with Palestinians. Those that came from elsewhere largely were forcibly expelled as an act of genocide- "going back where (they) came from" means going back to somewhere that's made it plain they are not welcome and they'll be killed on sight. They went to Israel because they were told that was the only correct choice for them.

Also I think it is incredibly dicey to be wielding "Jews are inherent outsiders that need to go back where they came from" because that is an antisemitic statement that has echoed across history ANDDDDD I think it's uhhhh incredibly hilarious as afronative to hear fucking Americans saying this when we're on stolen land ourselves with a government that is still trying to wipe out the few indigenous people we have left and sweep its continued atrocities under the rug.

What's that saying about glass houses and stones? If you're on American soil and you're not indigenous, how about you go back where you came from? Oh? You were born here? You have a family history here? You have deep ties to the area and can't just uproot your entire life? It's a little more complicated than just getting on a plane back to Europe or Asia or Africa? Hmm. Interesting. Don't you know that makes you complicit in genocide? No no no, it doesn't matter that your family was fleeing genocide yourselves, or that your ancestors were forced to come here, or that you personally took no part in the ongoing political war being waged against the dwindling number of Natives we have left. You don't belong here. You need to be forcibly detained and expelled. Maybe even kept in a cage for a while until we figure out what to do with you.

Whoop. But that's the silent part you're not saying. You can call it Zionist if you want. But I think people need to think a little more critically about the actual logistics of what caused this problem in the first place, before firing off about it. Especially not when a lot of these talking points are at their heart incredibly antisemitic.

[thebaileybugle]

Mistake

Pairing: L. Jethro Gibbs x male!reader

Warning(s): None really, just some fluff and cuteness

Request: Hi could I please request a Gibbs x male reader fic where the reader works in the lab with Abby and without thinking Gibbs gives him a kiss on the cheek like he would Abby I doesn’t have to be detailed at all

A/N: Hi again! how are you wonderful people doing, hope you are doing well, and if not hope you get better! It's not much but its a kickstart to writing again.

Gibbs walked off the elevator and approached you and Abby with half a mind. It was a whole twenty-three or so hours since the NCIS was assigned this case and one of those hours was the only time he slept.

Is it a bit dangerous? Yes. Though, has he survived worse with a not-so-better mindset? Yes. Is there a slim chance you might kill him if you found out because you are the father hen of the team (including Ducky) yes, but he could at least convince you to not throw away his 50th cup of coffee.

"Afternoon Boss!" Abby said enthusiastically with a bright smile, Gibbs smiled back tiredly and nodded before she went back to a forensic test on some clothing from the victim.

You didn't even look up picking up on the sudden smell of coffee as his footsteps approached the front of the table.

"What cup is that Gibbs?" You asked without looking up from your computer as you type away. That was the third time you've asked him this question in just thirty minutes. You were much like your colleagues, exhausted, anxious, and ready for this damn case to be over.

"None ya'" Said man answered before taking a sip of his 53rd cup of coffee. You looked up from the device and stared at him with a glare more lethal than his own. He didn't stand down though of course. He smiled and made his way around the lab table to stand next to you. "I know what she's working on but the hell are you doin?"

"Looking up bridal shops for the vic." You said sarcastically with a fake smile that you dropped as you looked back down the screen, trying to look up a possible substance we're missing from the scene. That can't be all of the cause of death, it's damn near impossible for it to just be blunt force trauma."

"What? ya thinkin' something internal that Duck could've missed?"

"That could be it, but there's also the fact that Ducky is most definitely 99% correct and thorough with his autopsy reports so that's unlikely." You shake your head and run a hand down your face in slight frustration.

"But not impossible." He points out shrugging a bit. You nod and make a move to text Jimmy. Gibbs furrows his brows at the device and scoffs and shakes his head. "You'll figure it out, kid. Between you, Abby, and that brain of yours you'll find the missin' piece in no time."

"Thanks, boss... might not be the most helpful brain though... between my partner making things difficult at home and this case, i feel like I'm gonna snap."

"That's alright kid, but if you do, make sure it's on DiNozzo." You smirk and nod thanking him silently. "Alright you two, I'm off to get another cup." He grins and out of habit kisses Abby's cheek before also kissing yours.

Abby's eyes widened in surprise at what she saw. Gibbs, who you and Abby thought didn't comprehend what he just did, walked off to the elevator once more and pressed the up button, leaving behind leaving you and Abby stunned and confused.

"Don't make it weird, it ain't that bad to kiss a man!" He yelled back to you both and entered the elevator.

------

Taglist: @ilovemark1951 @napoleonthefrog

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[matan4il]

Daily update post:

Probably the biggest news in Israel today is how many of the hostages are already confirmed dead. The thing isn't that we didn't know some were. If you've been following my update posts, then you know that more than once, we got the news that a hostage was confirmed to have been killed, and their body held hostage in Gaza. The thing is that up until now, no one talked about the total number of dead, or the number of those with an indication (which still needs to be verified) that they might be dead. So here are the numbers, as published: out of the official number of 136 Israeli hostages in Gaza, 32 are dead bodies, with the IDF trying to determine whether at least 20 more were also killed. That means that it's confirmed there are no more than 104 living hostages abducted from Israel and held in Gaza, and potentially no more than 84.

In the wake of the Oct 7 massacre, Hamas has been self contradictory. On the one hand, they shared footage of the carnage themselves, many times live (this website is dressed as if it's Hamas', and presents some of the evidence from that day, for all the deniers). The footage and testimonies of survivors, as well as forensic evidence collected from the slain shows that civilian communities were intentionally targeted, and that women, men, kids were intentionally raped, maimed and murdered under close proximity, where no mistake about the identity of the victims could have been made. A Hamas senior has openly said that they would repeat the massacre until Israel is destroyed. All of Israel destroyed obviously harms the civilians, including the women and kids. Following the massacre, Hamas has also called for Oct 13 to be a global 'Day of Rage' where Hamas supporters were called upon to attack Israelis and Jews worldwide. They did not specify leaving women and kids out of it, and when Jews are made into targets globally, meaning way beyond Israel and its army, that obviously means civilians. Yet at the same time, Hamas has denied having targeted civilians, that if Hamas did kill them it was due to confusion, and even blamed Israel for the civilian deaths. But now, Israel has released evidence of a book of fatwas (Islamic religious decrees) found in Gaza, which exlpictly allowed the Hamas terrorists to target civilians, including women and kids. The pic on the right shows the cover of the fatwas book, with Hamas' emblem, and the left shows the relevant fatwa.

The newly elected president of Argentina is visiting Israel, to announce the moving of the Argentinian embassy to Jerusalem. I'm just gonna remind everyone that foreign embassies normally are in a country's capital, and that foreign countries don't get to choose a capital instead of a country's own people. In fact, I personally don't know of any other case where foreign nations refuse to acknowledge a country's choice of capital by keeping their embassies out of there. Originally, the refusal to recognize Jerusalem as Israel's capital happened before the war in 1967 (when the two parts of the city, torn apart by Jordan in 1948, which also ethnically cleansed East Jerusalem of Jews, were re-united), and was connected to the fact that in the 1947 UN partition plan (which wasn't legally binding, and was nullified by the Arabs' refusal to accept it, and them starting a war against Israel), Jerusalem was supposed to be an internationally governed area. In other words, this isn't the world acting on behalf of the Palestinians, it's acting on behalf of its own political and religious interests in the historical Jewish capital, and the city holiest to Judaism for over 3,000 years. Currently, Jerusalem is home to the embassies of the US, Honduras, Guatemala, Kosovo (the first Muslim country to have an embassy there), and Papua New Guinea.

And while it's not an official embassy, because it doesn't represent an actual country, the other day a symbolic one was opened in Jerusalem, the Indigenous People embassy. And to see other native people connecting with the Jews, who are native to the Land of Israel, warms my heart. The embassy may not be an official one, but it has the support of various indigenous leaders from around the world, and its opening was attended by over 100 ambassadors.

This is 42 years old Lara Tannous.

She's a Palestinian from East Jerusalem. On Jan 7, 3 Palestinian terrorists opened fire at the car she was in. Another Palestinian man who was driving along the same road, 32 years old Amar Mansour, was killed immediately. Lara was seriously wounded. She was hospitalized in Hadassah Ein Kerem, the Jerusalem medical center where she's been working as a pharmacist for the last 17 years, but succumbed to her wounds on Jan 24. She was buried in the Palestinian-ruled city of Ramallah. The three terrorists thought they were shooting at Jews. According to at least one source, they were 2 doctors and a male nurse, before choosing to take lives instead. This morning, I happened to undergo a procedure at Hadassah. Before leaving, I noticed there's a corner for the workers or their family members killed on or since Oct 7. Here's the corner dedicated to the hostages, the one to the victims of Palestinian terrorism, and one zoomed in pic, where you can see Lara's photograph a bit better:

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[bigtreefest]

Chapter 7: Help the Bear

From: The Rainmaker Series

Pairing: Mob! Steve x Forensic Scientist! Reader

Summary: “If you ever see me fighting in the forest with a grizzly bear, help the bear, cuz that bitch gon’ need it.” Usually, you’d say this phrase describes you. You’re tough, and your enemies are the bear, but you might be more fragile than it seems. You might have to put aside some of your issues for the night, in favor of helping a friend.

Word count: 6,722

Content/warnings: Swears, punching, anger, deception, mob themes, crying, yelling, broken promises, mood swings, pet and nicknames, nice Bucky???, everyone lowkey walking on eggshells around decks, high stress, kidnapping, a bar fight, mentions of knives, misogyny

Author’s Note: I feel like this is a long awaited climax which lines up with Ch. 10 of YCMBWH and Ch. 3 of Handiwork. Anyway, I’m very excited for you to read it. I’d appreciate your feedback in all forms!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

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It was early Saturday morning when you stood outside of your apartment building, waiting for Gio to pick you up like you had instructed Steve. He’d sent you several calls and texts since, but you stayed radio silent, until finally, it all stopped. You didn’t have doubt, though, that he’d come through, and you wouldn’t have to drive that distance in your current state. The chance of a crash was far too high. Hm, maybe you should’ve taken Steve’s car then. No, no, you weren’t that mean. You shamed yourself for even having the thought.

The sky was full of nice shades of pink, orange, and purple, the air lacking the humidity that usually came with the rising sun. It was the rainy season, and had been for the last month, but for some reason, the conditions seemed almost drought-like, since Tuesday. How uncharacteristic.

You were pulled from your thoughts by a black SUV pulling up in front of your building, and tried to squint to see who was in the driver’s seat. You had only seen Gio once before, so you assumed it was him by the dark hair you could just barely make out through the tinted window. Good, that meant it wasn’t Steve, even though the vehicle had an eerie resemblance to his. The trunk popped open and you threw your bag in. You weren’t going to be there long, anyway. All you had packed was a change of clothes for the game tonight, pajamas, and clothes for when you left in the morning. Simple as that, and it meant you could wear whatever you wanted right now, which was the comfiest thing you had: sweatpants and your old hoodie, despite the uncharacteristically warm weather.

You closed the trunk and hopped into the back seat, barely having the time to get buckled as the car lurched forward and started on its way out of the city. You looked through the window at the passing buildings as they turned into trees, on the route that was becoming familiar once again.

Bucky grumbled as he tossed and turned in his oversized leather desk chair, arising from the short sleep he had found there after a late night of business dealings designed to be front loaded for him to have this weekend open. He moved to stand, only for his feet to be met by something soft, that was definitely not the hardwood floors, under his loafers.

“Ah, fuck! Steve? What are you doing down there? Why didn’t you fall asleep on the couch, like a normal person?”

Steve groaned, rolling over just enough to look at his best friend above him. “Couch is too comfy. Floor keeps me on edge, just barely asleep. I deserve that. And now I’m up so we can go immediately. You’re welcome, I did this for you and your future wife.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and stepped over the lump of blond and muscle on the floor, creeping towards Sam, who actually was on the couch, while grumbling, “We don’t know if she’s my future wife. We hardly have a label.”

Bucky flicked Sam’s ear for him to rise, met with an, “ow! I’ve been up since you have, boss man!”

Bucky rolled his eyes again, walking over to the closet in the corner of his home office and grabbing his and Steve’s go bags that they had packed the night before.

“Okay, we’ve gotta get there soon. Sam, you still good with holding down the fort here?”

Sam nodded, having sat up fully, unlike Steve, who was still laying on the floor, face down. “Yeah, although, I’m not sure about our buddy over there. Stevie, rise and shine,” he sang out softly.

Steve stood after taking a sharp, deep breath, his eyes red and face puffy just barely, that it looked like allergies from sleeping on the floor. “Okay, I’ll drive my car, and Bucky, you’ve gotta go get Decks.”

Bucky stopped all movement, going still as a statue from where he was double checking the contents of his bag, before turning around slowly. “I’m sorry, what? You want me to go pick up Decks? No. Your girl, you pick her up.”

Steve’s head dropped as Sam let out an audible wince at the whole thing, before explaining, since he knew Steve had very little desire to be verbal right now. “Boss, Decks hasn’t talked to Steve since Tuesday. Steve can’t go pick her up, I think it’ll just make her more mad. And look at him,” he gestured to Steve, hair in a mess and head still pointing towards the floor as he rubbed his eyes, “poor puppy is gonna be broken if he has to see her this early in the morning. She’s gonna eat him alive. At least you’ve got Honey waiting for you on the other side. Steve sure as hell doesn’t.”

The help from Sam had morphed into something a little hurtful, albeit true, but Bucky still huffed. “If Decks doesn’t want to see you, why’d she agree to a ride from us?”

Steve shook his head, finally looking up. “She didn’t. She agreed to a ride from Gio, who’s in Italy currently because you were trying to be a nice boss, or whatever. So you’ve gotta drive her.”

In an instant, Bucky’s features grew soft. He switched from boss mode to friend mode. “Okay, okay. Just…get going so you can start talking strategy with Bee and Peter early. I’ll pick up Decks and meet you there.”

Steve gave a short, grateful nod and grabbed his bag, heading out.

So Bucky found himself driving you like a chauffeur out to the farm as the early morning sun was lighting up the landscape. He was used to being up this early, and he was sure you were, too, but just in case, he’d brought some breakfast.

Once he’d gotten far enough from the city that he knew you wouldn’t try and escape once he revealed himself, he rolled down the partition. He could see you curled up in the corner of the backseat, almost cuddling, clinging to the hoodie you were wearing. It was all too familiar, as Bucky knew Bee had the same one, but the last time he had seen one of them was that time he was at your apartment and Steve had worn it. And that’s when Bucky caught a whiff. Unmistakable with how often he was around it. Steve’s cologne. The corner of his lip upturned slightly. Maybe there was still a chance for the two of you.

You were pulled from your daydream by the sound of the partition lowering, but didn’t move your gaze from the passing scenery. Maybe Gio was going to ask you if you needed a bathroom break in the long drive, or to make sure the air flow and temperature were alright, but you were surprised when you heard the voice in front of you.

It was deep, and a little familiar. “So, uh… you want a croissant?”

It was Bucky. You watched as he fished around in the passenger seat, grabbing a bakery box and handing it back to you, shaking it as a signal when you hadn’t grabbed it after a few seconds. You pulled it into your lap before looking into the rear view mirror and catching his slate eyes, watching you expectantly, yet cautiously, for a response.

You looked at the label on the box. It was a French bakery. One you’d never heard of before, especially not from the list of businesses Steve had rattled off to you when you asked what all he owned. Good.

You spoke up softly, not one much for words so early in the morning. “So’s this place yours?”

Bucky looked between your image in the mirror and the road, trying to figure out what you were referencing. “The bakery? Yeah, one of many places. And one of my favorites. Try the chocolate croissant if you haven’t had breakfast yet. It’s good.”

You nodded, sighing and gingerly opening the lid to be met by one of the best smells probably ever. You carefully pulled out a chocolate croissant and took a bite, holding in a moan at the deliciousness, but Bucky could see the enjoyment on your face, no matter how brief, due to the overwhelming weight of today sitting on your shoulders.

“Told you.”

You simply hummed in response, setting down the pastry and waiting to swallow to speak up.

“So, Bucket. I thought Gio was supposed to pick me up, but it looks like Steve lied again. Why you? Don’t you have better shit to be in charge of?”

Bucky was changing highways, so he kept his eyes on the road. He had half a mind to defend his best friend, but he didn’t want to open up that can of worms when you still had a couple hours of driving left. Plus, he knew it went farther than that, and it wasn’t technically his fight. Touching on your self-deprecation probably wasn’t a good idea, either. He’d leave that to Honeybee, much better versed in seeing you like this, he assumed. But from what he could tell, this seemed far from your normal self-assured, resigned state that he quite appreciated. He opted to comment on the dissection of your sentence that mainly had to do with him. That was probably a good domain to stay within for now. “You don’t have to call me that, y’know.”

You took another bite and shrugged. “What am I supposed to call you, then? James?”

“Bucky is fine.”

You let out a dry laugh. “No, that’s weird, what are you, a hick? -wait, actually, no. Forget I said that.”

Definitely not a good idea to make a distasteful joke such as that with where you both were going right now.

You shook your head looking down at the box. “But you still didn’t answer my first question.”

Bucky spun the wheel around the clover leaf and effortlessly merged on the open roads. “Gio’s on vacation in Italy, so you’re stuck with me. But don’t worry, Steve’s already on the road ahead of us.”

Well, he did what you asked, but you left his answer unacknowledged, besides a huff as you set the box aside. So much for trying to tread lightly.

“What? Decks, sweetheart, are you mad at me for bringing up Steve?” You crossed your arms and legs, glaring at Bucky and hoping it would set him on fire, sadly unsuccessfully, through the mirror. It was a good thing you weren’t a witch, anyway, though, because Bee would’ve killed you if it had worked.

“Ugh! What is up with that!? Everyone calling me ‘sweetheart?’ You, Sam, Steve! I’m not some little token helpless woman.”

Bucky opened his mouth defensively to reply, before closing it and furrowing his brows in thought at your full statement. “Wait a second, Steve called you ‘sweetheart?’”

You rolled your eyes yet again, and decided you weren’t done with that croissant quite yet, so you grabbed the box from your side and took another bite, not bothering to swallow this time before talking with your mouth full. “Yeah, like a few times, and then Sam did when he drove me home, and you did just now. What’s the deal?”

Bucky wished you weren’t sitting directly behind him, because he would’ve fully turned to look you in the eyes for this. He didn’t realize how serious it all was between the two of you, but he should’ve, considering how enamored he was, too, with his own girl. Obviously Steve was capable of the same thing.

“Swee- Decks. For Sam and I, that’s just how we were raised. I mean, Steve was raised the same way, but…” He stopped to think for a second so it came out the right way.

“Sure, you’re right, ‘sweetheart’ is a term of endearment for anyone in our community. Any guy will call pretty much any woman that, but not Steve. Ever since we were young, he refused. Said he was saving it. That it deserved to be used for someone really special. Someone with the sweetest heart. At least for him.”

You scoffed and questioningly shook your head. “Bucket, that is not me.”

He shrugged once again. “Maybe. And maybe that’s what you try to show, but to him it is. That’s you. He doesn’t take those things lightly.”

You grumbled, taking the last bite and licking your fingers before Bucky handed you a napkin. “I had it under control.”

He smirked, catching another whiff of Steve’s cologne when your arm reached up towards him. “Sure, ya did. Hey, when’s the last time you washed that hoodie? Surprised you wouldn’t wanna use that old thing as a napkin,” he said in a playful tone, laughter almost emerging from his voice.

Evidently you didn’t want to wash it. You wanted to keep it clean, let it have this scent as long as possible. After you crumbled the napkin, you threw it up towards him in the front seat before pulling your hood up.

Bucky swerved slightly, but not enough to cause concern. “Hey, watch it. I’m in charge of your safety up here. I’ve gotta deliver us both unharmed. It’s paramount.”

You’d just about had enough of this oddly chipper attitude from him. Bucky was very obviously excited to see Bee again and you couldn’t blame him. Their relationship was honest from the start. The small tinge of normalcy you’d had for a second started to wear off again, though, as that weight began to sink back onto your shoulders. You pulled your hoodie strings tight around your face, letting the smell and the comfort fully engulf you, and hoping to catch just a little more sleep before the long day ahead.

“Okay, whatever. Fuck off, Bucket.”

When you pulled up to the farm, you were gently shaken awake by someone who had climbed in the back seat with you so that they didn’t open the door you were leaning against and make you fall out. When your eyes fluttered open, though, you were met with a face you hardly recognized, causing you to spring into action and punch him right in the nose, not that hard, but also not that lightly.

The young man in flannel in front of you clattered into the back of the passenger seat, holding his nose, when you finally recognized him. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! You’re that kid who works for Bucky. Are you okay?”

He nodded, backing away and out the other side of the vehicle, scrambling to get away quickly, not sure if you’d hit him again, just based off association. “Yeah, yeah, all good.”

You could hardly hear him, voice fading as he ran into the house.

You took his words at face value, finally reorienting yourself to where you were now, seeing the green and gold landscapes and red barns outside your window. Right. Bee’s farm. For the bet. With the mob bosses. Gone was your concern as your angry face, or really more of an attempt of a flat affect came back.

You slid across the back seat, empty of the bakery box that was once there, and moved to get out of the door that was left open. When you emerged, you were met with the sight of Bee and Cherry picking through the pastries you had left behind, their nervously smiling faces lit up by the mid morning sun.

“Decks! Good morning! It’s so good to see you.”

Bee gave you a side hug you didn’t return and Cherry gave you a little wave before giving Curtis a little bite of her croissant. Gross.

Curtis thanked her with a kiss on the cheek before coming over to you and giving a bear hug, despite the way you tried to push him off. Eventually, you relented, relaxing in his hold, that of a long-time, good friend. He rubbed his hand against the top of your hood, messing up the hair underneath, before returning to Cherry’s side, grabbing his own pastry out of the box.

A small “hi” was all you could muster up to use to greet the three of them, but it was enough. You pointed over your shoulder to indicate you were going to grab your bag from the trunk, finally pulling the hood off your head and turning around. When you pivoted, though, you were only met with Steve there, your bag over his shoulder like it had been so many times before, his glassy eyes taking you in.

His voice was small and scratchy like you’d never heard it before, like he’d been silent for weeks, as he mustered up a, “Hey, Decks.”

You promptly spun back around and stomped into the farm house and up the steps, passing Bucky on the way to your usual room. When you opened the door, though, you were met with the sight of a young man sitting on your bed, ice against his face and a jolt when he saw you bust in.

“Uh, hi Miss Decks. Can I help you?” You groaned at the weird formality, but were in no mood for something like this to throw you off on such an important day.

“Yeah. You can get out of my room. You’re gonna share the other spare with Steve. No questions, okay?”

He simply nodded, beginning to grab his stuff as you stripped the bed of its sheets. He was actually complying very nicely, so you felt bad for being so assertive with him…and punching him in the face.

“So what’s your name and what’s your job?”

He stopped and looked at you, confusion and fear riddling his face. “I-I’m Peter, miss. I was assigned to stay here to help with shipments and watching over miss Honeybee. I just go wherever they say. Sometimes do tech, sometimes intelligence. Really anything.”

You nodded and hummed, pulling a new set of bedding out of the top of the closet. “So what exactly does that make you, Peter? Fourth in command?”

He cocked his head to the side, zipping up a bag, before helping you put on the new sheets. “I guess I never thought about that, but no. Technically I think I’d be fifth at least.”

You nodded along, grateful for the acquiescence that seemed to run through this organization and his kindness you were evidently not returning. With all the stress, though, you didn’t even really have the time to wonder who was number four. He finished gathering everything in his arms and sprinted out the door, across the hall to Steve’s room, before realizing there were three guest rooms and he might be able to take the last one, depending on where Bucky planned to stay. Out of indecision, he just dropped everything at the end of the hallway and went back downstairs, leaving you to lay over the comforter in contemplation. Peace wasn’t something that would come to you today.

It was early afternoon when Cherry finally came up to find you, not the person you would’ve expected to do so. She knocked on your door with a sweet smile.

“Hey, Decks. I know you’re probably in game mode, but Bee thought it might be a good idea for you to come over to my place. We can pick you out a nice outfit for tonight. Eat something, maybe? It’s my understanding you haven’t had anything since early this morning and apparently, from what I’ve been told, ‘the good stuff’ is waiting for you at my apartment. And it’s no boys allowed for this afternoon. You get to do whatever you need to get in the zone without distraction. How does that sound?”

You groaned before you nodded, launching yourself up out of the bed quickly to a seated position. “Yeah…that’s good. I mean, I already have an outfit, but that’ll be good. Let me just hit the bathroom real quick and I’ll meet you in the driveway, okay?”

She nodded with another soft smile and went back down the steps.

Soon after she was gone and you’d gathered what you needed, not even bothering to consider how your bag had made it to the corner by the doorway of your room, you shuffled over to the bathroom in your socked feet and washed your face. When you were all dry, you looked at your reflection in the mirror. It was you, but it was different. Not unrecognizable, but maybe barely.

Exhaustion laced your features. Dark bags had settled under your eyes from the lack of sleep. You were in a perpetual state of puffiness from all the crying you’d kept to yourself, yet everything just looked…sunken. Like, saggy with sadness. You smiled, trying to boost your mood, make it feel like you weren’t going through hell. Trying to put on a brave face for your friend and her world. Everything this whole week was a lot, and as much as you were trying to ice out the terror, you could feel it seeping through the cracks. One final smile and one final wipe of your nose, and you were ready to go, galloping down the staircase and out to Bee’s truck where she was already waiting for you. You slid up in the seat, squeezing Cherry between the two of you, and went on your way towards town.

When you got to Cherry’s apartment, there were bowls of pasta sitting on her small dining room table that must’ve been for you. Ah yes, that was probably ‘the good stuff’ she was referring to. Cherry immediately went to the kitchen to grab bowls and utensils, handing them to you and Bee, as you took in the scent of the the still-steaming arrangement.

Despite your feelings toward everything Steve lately, the gesture and nostalgia still warmed you. The three of you sat, as you savored every bite in silence, Bee and Cherry holding soft conversation on the side and respecting your wishes until the meal was done and you felt just a little bit better. A little bet fuller in your heart and your stomach.

You didn’t have to worry as Bee and Cherry assured you that they’d clean everything up, directing you towards the bedroom where you’d found something else sitting there, waiting for you to find it. It was a record player, just like the one in your apartment. The one you’d promised Steve you’d play the song on before you’d fallen asleep to that old movie. And next to it was a stack of vinyls, some you recognized as the same as your collection, plus some new ones you’d mentioned you liked before, but never got the chance to acquire. On the stack was a small sticky note that said:

“You got this, Decky. -SR”

You couldn’t help the way a smile crept onto your face at his thoughtfulness. Sure, you were mad at him, but this was far from a cheap gesture. It was just what you needed to fully lock in, and maybe raise your spirits to get through tonight and do this for someone besides yourself. You put on a record, mood brightening by the minute, and began swaying through the room until Cherry and Bee came in to meet you.

Their faces lit up seeing your slightly improved mood, this moment acting like a brief reprieve from a day constantly growing in intensity. The two of them began rifling through the closet, pulling out a bunch of outfits for you to try, and throwing them into a pile on the bed. At least you had your music.

When Cherry’s shift at the bar was set to start, the three of you drove over, you wearing a short, flouncy tennis dress that was far from what you were used to. The clothes you had packed for this evening were just jeans and a tee, but according to your friend, that wasn’t good enough, so here you found yourself in something completely out of character. At least it had shorts underneath.

You were about an hour early for the match, but the bar was already buzzing with patrons. As Cherry went to clock in, you could see the group of guys already sitting in the booth, talking in hushed whispers until you and Bee approached. Bee instantly gravitated towards Bucky’s lap with a kiss, and you were going to sit next to Curtis, but he stood up, passing you with a nod and heading straight for the bar with Cherry. So much for having a buffer.

You were left to sit next to Steve, your already nervous state making you shake and avoid eye contact, whether you wanted to or not. Bucky sat up, saying something about checking with guards and Bee followed him, leaving the two of you alone, sitting too close for how much room the booth had now gained.

You took in a shuddering breath, looking around the crowded room, seeing the pool tables and envisioning the event that was about to go down. You felt so isolated in that moment, before you felt a large, warm hand on your thigh.

“Decks, sweetheart. You there? You alright?” You looked up and to your side at Steve, the seclusion of the tall seats allowing him to be the only one who could see the tears in your eyes. Here you were, all dolled up at the hands of Cherry, about to ruin it, but that was the least of your worries. The pressure was about to crash over you and Steve needed to seal those dam walls before a flood broke out.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. Why don’t you and me take a second to go into the break room or something? We have the time.”

You simply nodded and scooted out of the booth. Steve grabbed the hat off the top of his head, placing it on yours to hide your distraught face from any possible prying eyes before grabbing your hand and rushing the two of you across the dance floor.

He’d seen most of your range of emotions. He’d seen you playful, he’d seen you focused, he’d seen you happy, he’d never get enough of that, he’d seen you mad, probably more than enough for a lifetime, but he’d never seen you quite like this, with tears threatening to spill over.

Before you knew it, you were on an old couch in a back room you had never seen before, crying into Steve’s chest as he held you closely, hand rubbing your back, and shushing you gently.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. You got this. Hey, look at me. You can do it.”

You pulled your hands up to wipe your eyes as Steve searched the room to find you tissues, dabbing away the wetness as you sniffled.

“Tell me what’s going on, sweetheart. What can I do to help? What’s on your mind?”

You tried to speak, but you were gasping for air. The farthest thing from your mind was anger at him, or the pet name. You just wanted comfort. Steve began demonstrating deep breaths in front of you, helping you to calm down until it worked. He started to blow a cool stream of air towards your face, drying more of the wetness, and rubbing his large, warm hands up your arms, redirecting your focus to the gestures. Finally you were almost fully settled and ready to talk.

“I’m just so…scared. Sure, I’ve dealt with things that were high-stress before, but never with this high of stakes. I didn’t ask to be dragged into all of this, but now the whole mess hinges on me. This entire thing. Legitimate lives are riding on me. That’s a lot.”

Steve nodded along. He got it. This was hard, and it was a lot of pressure, especially since it all came crashing towards you at once. He wished there was something he could do to fix it, to take some of that off of you, but he couldn’t. He felt like he was the reason it was all hitting so hard in the first place. All he could do was try and keep you pumped up, and ready to go for tonight. He knew you had a game face, maybe he could help you put that on so you could beat these pricks once and for all. Maybe that would be enough for him. He knew you were giving him a chance, just for tonight because Bee was mostly what mattered, and he was going to make the most of that opportunity while it lasted.

He ran his hand over your hair, pulling you close one last time and planting a kiss to your hairline before sighing and slapping his hands on his knees to get up.

“Alright, up we go. C’mon.” He held out his hand for you, but all you did was sit there and look at him confused.

“Unfortunately, you don’t have all night, Decky. Stand, or I’m dragging you.”

You must not have moved fast enough, because before you knew it, your floppy body had been pulled to its feet and Steve was slowly manipulating each part. He kicked your one foot back, widening your stance, and bent each arm, curling your fingers into fists. He moved in front of you, holding up his hands, flat and open, just like boxing practice. He bounced between his feet on the ground, shifting back and forth.

“Alright, go for it. Let’s see what you got.” You huffed, landing a weak punch against his palm, and Steve laughed and shook his head. “I don’t think so. Let’s go, Decks. I know you’re better than that. Harder. Get angry.”

And you did, you punched harder, you punched faster, and you were relentless, raging in a rain of fists, jitters long gone and replaced with a fire of fury. Fuck Cole. And fuck Lloyd. And fuck this whole fucked up mess of misogyny that threatened the livelihood of an innocent woman.

Steve grabbed your fists, snapping you out of it as you stood there, chest rising and falling with deep breaths. “There it is. Use that.” He looked at you intently, imploring you to be yourself, the confident, driven, capable woman he knew. You were back, if only for a few hours, but that was all he needed.

You settled yourself with a single breath, hands falling to your sides after you smoothed your dress and grabbed Steve’s hat back off where it had fallen onto the couch when you threw your head at his chest. You stood there with your eyes closed for a second. “Steven, do I still look okay? Bee said I have to look hot to distract these pieces of shit, and I’d hate to know that I’ve got a hair out of place. Please fix it before I go back out there.”

Steve smiled, just a little one he knew you couldn’t see, as he took a walk around you, tugging down the back of your dress and gently combing his fingers through your hair, taking his thumbs to swipe over your cheeks and fix the slight run of makeup from your tears. He gently grabbed the hat out of your tight clutch, playing with the brim. “You, uh…you want my hat? Would that make you feel better? Preserve an air of mystery and make you not have to look directly at the ‘pieces of shit?���”

You revealed a small, soft smile he thought he’d never see again and nodded, opening your eyes as he placed it back on your head, straightening it just so. He smiled just as sweetly when he saw you, actually saw you for the first time in awhile. Then, you weren’t sure what was happening as he squatted down in front of you, closing his eyes just like you had before.

“Okay, now it’s your turn to fix my hair before we go back out there. You messed it up when I gave you my hat.”

You strutted back out into the bar, face stoic, and stride powerful, your skirt flowing from the speed. Steve was a few steps behind you, surveying the area to see Bucky and Bee had returned, chatting with two men by the pool table.

You clocked them as well, not recognizing the two, but seeing one in an oddly crisp brown jacket, common for the area, but usually more beaten up on the folk around here, and the other in a knitted, collared shirt, nose pronounced by the neatly trimmed mustache underneath. Far too fancy for a place like this. These must be the men.

You walked up to Bee’s side, noticing her tight-lipped smile. “Decks, this is Cole, and this is Lloyd. He’ll be playing against you.”

You simply nodded, taking a step back. These men obviously had no desire for handshakes, only giving you a curt nod as well, as Lloyd stepped away, pulling a pool cue out of a case.

You rolled your eyes under the brim of the hat. Of course this rich prick had his own cue. You walked over to where Steve was at the rack of cues on the wall, looking at each and evaluating which one looked the best after years of wear and tear in the old joint. He pulled one down, wordlessly asking if it worked and you nodded, handing him a little block of chalk.

“Will you hold this for me throughout the game? And a glass of water please?” He nodded and headed to the bar, ready to be at your service.

When you returned to the table, negotiations had already been made and Lloyd was starting. That already put him at an advantage, but it would be fine, as long as he couldn’t get all the balls in on the first try.

His break was successful. Sharp, forceful, and precise: something that seemed mimetic of his pristine and obnoxious appearance. With two striped balls in the pockets, he went for the next one, and the next one, of your favorite suit. It was bad enough that you had to play solids, but he was surprisingly doing well. On his attempt for a sixth sink, though, he missed, giving you the chance to step in.

You took a sip of the water in Steve’s hand, rubbing the tip of your cue with the chalk in his other. You took a deep breath, leaning over the table for your first shot. It was the furthest thing from your mind, but Steve, and hell, everyone around, took notice of you bending over for it. Steve’s eyes quickly averted, though, going straight to Lloyd and Cole, as they were shamelessly gawking, doing what you’d said they would, and hopefully losing their if focus because of it. Your jaw ticked. You were angry, and you were focused, and you were fed up, and you were ready to go. There was no way you were going to mess up. You took your shot. Sunk.

That was followed by four more, easy angles, at least for you. You didn’t even look at the two men your were competing against. The only other person you could see in your zone of focus was Steve, if that, mostly because he was holding the materials you needed to win. Anyone else, anything else, was the enemy. Blocked. This was about winning, just like the years of swindling this game had set you up for. Seven hits, seven successes, one left, so you called the pocket. It was intense, and your face was unreadable. You took the shot, not even looking to see it go in, because you knew it would. Instead, your face was turned towards the two out-of-place men, your lips slowly growing smug as small crowd that had gathered around the table erupted in cheers.

You dropped your cue on the table, waltzing up to Lloyd as Bee stood in front of Cole.

You pointed a finger into the expensive fabric on the man in front of you and looked up into his eyes, dark like the deepest, deadest ocean.

“A deal is a deal and you just lost. Now hop off from my friend’s and all the other businesses I hear you’ve been harassing. Aren’t you guys all about your word?”

You were taken aback by the dark chuckle you were met with. “Oh, cupcake, that’s cute. You think I got this far on my word? No way. You may have won this fool’s game, but you all have yet to start mine.”

After gesturing over to Cole, he put his hand over his chest, dramatically gasping in a mocking manner.

“Oh no. Where’d your precious cheese curd go?”

Your head whipped over to the bar where you’d last seen him, but were met with the sight of an empty stool. Curtis was missing.

At this point, you didn’t care about the scene you were about to make, because that crossed a line. Curtis hardly had anything to do with this entire situation and they kidnapped him? Fucking why? Before you could even register what was going on, you lunged for Lloyd, trying to punch and scratch at him, but only hitting air. Something had caught you in the middle of your movement, picking you up, leaving you kicking and clawing at nothing, but you still had your voice. Curtis was innocent, and like a brother to you, and he didn’t deserve whatever this was. So you screamed, flailing in Steve’s arms, you’d know his arms and the smell of his cologne anywhere, but that wasn’t really what you were focused on right now.

“FUCK YOU, LLOYD! FUCK YOU AND THAT UGLY ASS MUSTACHE!! FUCK YOU FOR BREAKING A PROMISE!!!”

Out of the corner of your eye, even as you were backed away, you could see Cole shift and hold his hands up. “I swear. This wasn’t part of the deal. I was just doing what I was told. I didn’t know about any of this.”

You knew how much it sucked to be left out of the loop, but you still didn’t feel sorry. Cole was literally trying to commandeer the farm. He was far from innocent. You wiggled and turned as much as you could in Steve’s tight hold.

“And fuck you, too, Cole!! You ruined chocolate milk for me!”

The last thing you could see before the crowd descended was Bucky delivering a swift blow to Lloyd’s jaw, followed by him grabbing Cole by the collar.

Your attention was pulled to something else, though, by Steve’s hands on either side of your face once he had set you on a bar stool. “Decks, Decks! I need you to look at me.”

His nose was almost to yours. “I need you to watch Cherry. I have to go and check on the guards. See what happened out there and if Curtis is really gone. You need find out what happened in here. Take this.”

He slipped something in your hand that you had no idea how he concealed in the simple button-up denim shirt and jeans he was wearing. “Take out anyone who comes at you that you don’t know.”

You looked down at what was in your grasp: a small throwing knife. Without waiting a second, you snapped into survival mode, jumping behind the bar with Cherry. No one was around the two of you right now, luckily, as a full-on bar brawl had broken out.

You turned your body towards Cherry, but your head was on a swivel watching your surroundings. “So tell me what happened. When did Curtis disappear? Did you see anything?”

She frantically shook her head. “No, a-all I know is that some girl asked me to pour her a drink. She had a bunch of specifications, and when I made it and turned back around, Curtis was gone, and so was she.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “What did she look like?”

“I don’t know? Kinda short, dark hair? Annoyingly fit? Now that I think about it, kinda like the female version of the guy you were playing pool against. That’s not a coincidence, is it?”

You threw your head back. It definitely wasn’t a coincidence. It was probably Lilian.

“Ah, shit.”

Next >

Bonus A/N: The moments between Decks and Steve here were much softer than I’d anticipated them to be, but there are so many different ways to act under stress, and I think it means a lot that she’s not necessarily able to stay in her normal cold manner of upsettedness when there’s so much at stake beyond just her. Things change when others are depending on you.

Taglist: @evie-119 @hawkeyes-queen @ronearoundblindly @thedonswife13

[lulublack90]

Prompt 9 - Detective AU

@wolfstarmicrofic April 9, word count 999

CW- Dead bodies

Sirius Black looked down at the mauled body. This case was taking its toll on him. This was the fourth body they’d found. Each one left after the full moon. The press had nicknamed the killer ‘The Wolf’. 

He sipped his coffee and grimaced as the flurry of forensic personnel moved around the area. 

“Shit another one?” James Potter sighed as he ducked under the crime scene tape.

“Yup,” Sirius grunted. 

“Same bite marks?”

“Yup,”

“Any leads?”

“Nope,” Sirius drained his coffee cup and dug his keys out of his leather jacket. “I’m going back to the station. Get them to send me anything they find.” He waved at the forensic guys and left. 

It took them days to sort through the evidence. But those little geniuses managed to use the teeth marks from all the previous cases and find whose mouth they belonged to. 

Sirius looked down at the photograph of the mild-looking man. 

Remus Lupin had been a teacher but disappeared a few years ago. He was pretty average-looking, apart from the myriad of scars that sliced across his face. But Sirius just couldn’t get rid of the feeling that this was the wrong guy.

Another month and another body. Sirius was sick of this case. He had multiple people out looking for Lupin, but so far, nothing. Then, after an anonymous tip, Sirius tracked him down. 

He approached the run-down shack cautiously. He had backup waiting in case he needed it. 

He pushed open the door and shone his torch into the building. He checked the downstairs, but the rooms were clear.

He crept up the staircase and peered around the first door.

Remus was curled up under a ratty old blanket on the filthiest mattress Sirius had ever seen. 

“Remus Lupin?” He said clearly. The man’s head shot up. His eyes were full of panic. It was definitely him. “Remus Lupin, you’re under arrest.” Sirius began reciting the legal words to take the man into custody. He pulled out his handcuffs and was relieved when Lupin didn’t put up a fight. Sirius spoke into his radio, letting his team know he’d got him.

He had to help him to his feet as he was very malnourished. “I’ll ensure you get a hot meal once they finish processing you.” He didn’t know why he’d said it, but he did. 

He bundled Lupin into the back of the police car but couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d just arrested the wrong person. 

Remus sat across from him in the interview room, cradling a cup of tea. He’d answered every question Sirius and James had asked him. He had no alibi for any of the killings. 

“It’s hard to have one when you live in an abandoned shack.” Remus had joked sadly. Sirius felt a twinge in his heart.

“Why did you leave teaching?” James asked. “From what we can gather. One day, you just up and left. You completely disappeared.” Remus didn’t answer straight away like he had for all the other questions. He looked scared. More scared than when Sirius had arrested him. 

“Who’s after you?” Sirius asked, leaning forward, concern leaking into his features. Remus swallowed but didn’t break his eye contact with Sirius. 

“There was a guy. I-I-I thought he was a good guy. He promised to look after me but he—he turned out to be a really bad man. He told me he was going to ruin my life after I broke things off. He sent a bunch of his gang to my house. They did this.” He pointed to his face. “I fled. I quit my job, left my flat and ran. But it’s hard to get a job when you can’t use you’re real name or have a fixed address, so…” He trailed off, letting the detectives come to their own conclusions.

“Does this guy have a name?” Sirius asked. Remus’s eyes swam with unshed tears. 

“Fenrir Greyback.”

Greyback wasn’t hard to find. He had a rap sheet a mile long, and the kicker was the man had a full set of dentures. 

Sirius had managed to get a search warrant for Fenrir’s home and office. It took hours to go through everything, looking for anything that could tie him to the murders. Remus was still in custody, and while he was safe and warm and had three meals a day, Sirius didn’t want the man to be locked up. 

Together, he and James checked every nook and cranny. Then, right before they’d been about to give up, James found something. 

Hidden in a box beneath the carpet in an air vent was a set of dentures.

“What’s the betting they’re a match for Lupin’s dental records?” James asked, beaming at his partner.

Once they’d found that first piece of evidence, everything fell into place. CCTV footage appeared showing Greyback dragging one of the victims into the alley where she’d been found, slipping in the dentures and biting her body over and over. 

Sirius was the one who gave Remus the good news that he was free to go. He’d had to catch the man as he crumpled with relief. 

“Where will you go?” Sirius asked. He knew his gut had been right all along. He’d only needed to find the evidence to back it up. But he was worried about the skinny man he’d formed a relationship with. Remus shrugged. 

“I can use my name again. So I can apply for teaching jobs.”

“That’s not what I asked Remus.” Sirius folded his arms. Remus shrugged again. 

“I don’t have an answer for you.” Sirius rolled his eyes and shook his head. He pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and tossed them to Remus. 

“12 Grimmauld Place. Pick whichever room you want apart from the one at the end that one’s mine.” Remus grabbed Sirius and hugged him. 

“Thank you for everything.” He whispered into his ear before he walked out into the bright sunshine and freedom.  

[the-crooked-library]

"You and I Have Begun to Blur"

This is eating my brain from inside, so here's the thing: one of my favourite aspects of Hannigram as a ship is their balance - the way they mirror and complete each other, functionally two halves of the same whole; but what is even more fascinating is that, in a literary sense, Hannibal and Will are, in fact, inspired by two opposing aspects of the same man.

It all begins (like many other things) with Lord Byron; specifically, the summer he spent with a group of friends at Villa Diodati in Geneva, and the dare, that each member of the group would write a ghost story - one of which was Dr. Polidori's The Vampyre. This novella, which introduced the vampire legend to Western popular culture, defined its archetypes for centuries to come; and as such, Polidori's Lord Ruthven, who was based on Lord Byron, became a blueprint.

He is dark, foreign, seductive, dangerous, hypnotizing, hedonistic, possessive; his relationship with the main character, Aubrey, is markedly homoerotic - and these qualities endure as the archetype is passed down the generations. From Ruthven, we get Carmilla, Dracula, Lestat - and, indeed, Hannibal Lecter.

From this:

To this:

he is still, recognizably, a Byronic villain. Whether he operates within an overtly supernatural genre, or a psychological thriller, he is still confident, dominant, manipulative, and always representative of forbidden (queer, interracial, extramarital, etc) desire and temptation.

However, The Vampyre was not the only piece written for the same dare, not the only piece that left a legacy within popular horror, and, most importantly for this context, not the only piece that featured a Byronic character. Mary Shelley's Frankenstein introduced a second such archetype into the gothic genre - inspired by her own understanding of Lord Byron; so, while her Victor Frankenstein shares the same dark hair and pallor as Polidori's Ruthven, there is an ocean of differences between the two.

Victor Frankenstein is a Tortured Genius. He is odd and wild, passionate, prone to isolation; a misfit from the start, always lonely despite the few connections he has, and never truly understood. His intellect is both a gift and the source of his ruin, and he is plagued, in equal measure, by both pride and guilt.

In both looks and character, he passes almost unchanged - from this:

To this:

Even centuries later, he is still the smartest man in the room, he is always tormented, and his counterpart is always a Monster. We see him pop up throughout horror media - as poets, composers, detectives - reflected in Edgar Allan Poe's Roderick Usher, Lovecraft's Henry Wilcox, or Spencer Reid of Criminal Minds. Unlike those of Ruthven's lineage, these people are usually either frail or sickly, socially awkward, uncertain of themselves except for a specific area of expertise, and their sanity commonly tends to be in question.

Despite such differences, though, all these characters are Lord Byron's legacy, weaving their way through history - on the page, on the stage, on the screen, it matters not. By the time they meet again in NBC's Hannibal, they are as separate as two entities can be - yet entwined more closely than any other genre would allow.

Frankly, it drives me feral.

There is so much here to unpack - they are a whole, and yet separate, each with his own archetypal history. Does something within Will Graham's bones remember Frankenstein when he stands in the forensic lab, surrounded by corpses?.. On the Doylist level, does that inform the acting - however subconsciously - in any way?.. Does Count Hannibal Lecter have Lord Ruthven's smile - or Lord Byron's?.. Does he know?

How much is reality?

How much is fiction?

How much is lost through interpretation? How much is remembered? How much does anyone ever really Know us, truly, when two of Byron's closest friends saw entirely different people in him?

I don't know. We can never know. What is evident, though, is that Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham are two halves of the same soul - and that this soul aches to be complete.

[jeannineee]

part one: exile

(satoru gojo x f!reader) — “friday, im in love” series masterlist

author’s note: if you wanna be tagged in future parts, comment below or message me!! hope you guys enjoy <3

summary: you meet with the dean, and receive bad news about the upcoming semester. afterwards, you meet with a colleague--and old flame--to discuss the news.

warnings: none, really? there will be sexual content and angst in future parts. if you don't like coffee, sorry cause reader definitely does in this series!!

An impromptu meeting with Dean Yaga meant one of two things: you were fired, or your third semester teaching forensic chemistry was on its way to being a shitshow.

As you kept your gaze trained on the golden nameplate before you; hands folded in your lap to hide their shaking, you were less than excited to find out which fate awaited you. At present, you were the poster child for what it was like to be moments from a mental breakdown. Lucky you.

Yaga, at least, seemed to be unbothered by your blatant display of worry. Eyes trained on his computer screen, clacking away at his keyboard. It had been several minutes since you entered his office, and so far, he hadn’t said a word to you. The deafening silence did little to ease your nerves.

Another sixty seconds, and you couldn’t stop yourself from nervously clearing your throat. “Sir? Why exactly did you call me to your office?”

A quick, bored glance your way, and then Yaga’s focus was back on his screen as he replied, “Ijichi turned in his letter of resignation this morning.”

You loosed a breath you didn't even realize you were holding. “Oh.”

How does this concern me? Was this worth summoning me to your office?

Questions you hadn’t the heart to ask aloud.

Yaga continued, “I know your plate is full with the semester starting next week, but I need someone to pick up the work that Ijichi is leaving behind in general chemistry. His lecture days are opposite yours, so it can fit into your schedule. You’ll be compensated fairly.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, fidget with the hem of your skirt. “That’s quite a lot of work for one person, even with the help of teaching assistants.”

“I know. Which is why you’ll have someone helping you split the work.”

Shoulders sag in relief at his words, all of your prior stress dissipating as you ask, “Who will be helping me?”

“Satoru Gojo. He teaches organic chemistry. You’ve met him, I presume?”

Understatement of the century.

You strain to maintain your politeness as you respond, “Yes, I’ve met him.”

Yaga claps, rises from his chair. “Excellent! Between the two of you, I expect no issues. You’re both intelligent; efficient. More than capable.”

You stand as well. “You know, I would actually be alright taking over the extra work by myself—“

“Nonsense. You and Satoru will work together.”

A tight-lipped smile. “Alright. Anything else, sir?”

“Yes, actually…” Yaga trails off, reaches for a paper on his desk and passes it to you. “Here is Satoru’s information. I gave him yours as well. I’m sure he’ll be contacting you soon.”

“Great.”

It was in fact, not great.

“Alright, Ms. (Y/L/N). If there’s no concerns on your part, you’re free to go.”

You swore your eyes twitched with the effort it took to preserve your composure, but luckily, your mouth took over before your brain could. “Nope, no concerns, sir. Have a great day.”

You were certain that you were now living a nightmare, as you received a text message from Satoru only minutes after arriving back in your own office.

Hey (Y/N), are you free to meet for coffee this afternoon? Wanted to map out the lectures for next week.

Part of you wanted to ignore the message entirely. Another part wanted to respond, just to say no.

Unfortunately, your fingers worked against you.

Sure, what time?

Satoru seemingly had nothing better to do than stare at his phone, as his response came seconds later:

Two, if that works for you?

You stare at the text you've typed, still debating on backtracking. Reluctantly, you send it.

That's fine. See you then.

When you arrive at the cafe, it doesn't take long to seek out Satoru. For a split second, you find yourself feeling almost grateful for the man's unique features. The white hair. the striking blue eyes.

If only to find him more quickly amidst the bustling of the space around you.

Upon your approach to the table, Satoru rises to his feet, shoots you his signature grin. The very same grin that had girls ogling over him throughout your days as a college student.

"Y/N! It's really good to see you," he begins, pulling the mahogany chair out for you. "How've you been?"

He takes his seat across from you, chin resting against his palm. Cerulean eyes meet your own, and you look away immediately, finding sudden interest in the menu laid before you.

You don't fail to notice how his expression drops as you do so.

Satoru clears his throat, an uncharacteristcally awkward gesture. "I already ordered coffee for us, if that's alright? You still like lattes, right?"

Jaw tenses, then releases in time with an exhale. You nod. "That's fine. Thank you."

The man in front of you is back to smiling, coffee arriving just as he pulls his laptop from the leather satchel beside his chair. Oddly enough, he seemed...relaxed? Content? You weren't entirely sure, but it was stark in contrast to the Satoru you dated only a few years back.

"I figured that for now, we could lay out what we want next week to look like?" Satoru questioned, waiting for your go-ahead.

You nod again. "It's syllabus week, for one. Those can be due by the following Monday. As far as lectures, we'll start with the--"

"Basics," Satoru interrupts, finishing your sentence for you. Your cheeks flush, annoyance feeding the crease between your brows as he continues, "That's smart. Scientific method, states of matters. That's the best place to begin."

There he is. That is the Satoru you know.

A forced laugh. "Hm. Well, since you seem to have it figured out already, I'll get going. I'll see you Monday morning."

Satoru's eyes follow your movements, something like disappointment in them as you rise from your chair and smooth out your skirt. "I'll Venmo you for the coffee."

"That's not necessary," Satoru says quietly, standing with you. "Are you sure you don't want to stay? We should plan a bit more--"

You sigh, turn and face him. "I would like to keep our interactions minimal, wherever possible. You have my email if you need to contact me with anything in relation to work. I'll see you Monday."

Your speech was clipped, and part of you deeply regretted it as you watched the way Satoru's face dropped as he sat back down. "That's fine," he relents. "Get home safe. See you on Monday."

You don't reply as you exit, leaving a dejected Satoru and two untouched coffees behind.

The normally short walk from the cafe to your apartment felt like hours, with your mind racing over the last few hours.

Monday was going to be hell. Of that, you were completely certain.

taglist: @mixzimi @polarbvnny @desihopelessromantic @prettymoonlightsworld @kash77 @bakananya

[sebastianmichaelisslander]

Any unpopular opinions/headcanons about shinigamis?

Lessgooo! I’d been waiting for this for a while!

Headcanons

• Not fully sure there’s a proper academy for Reapers, though that’s the case in a lot of fanon hcs and even the anime.

The Dispatch setup resembles a very typical one in the corporate world, though - newer Reapers are all assigned a mentor who they train under and who asses them for their capabilities in varying fields. According to this, they join a particular department and work under its head (e.g., collections, forensics, auditing, etc.).

• There are several different branches of the Dispatch spread out over major cities in England - and the same goes for branches in other countries. Headquarters will be either at the capital or in a major city (e.g, London).

• Though Reapers are all pretty much blind as bats without their glasses, younger ones would probably have it slightly better. Slightly.

• As for whether they would retain any memories of their past lives, it depends for me.

What would be worse than having memories of who or what was dear to them wiped to prevent them from straying would be remembering it all, but knowing they will not be able to return under any circumstances.

But as I’m uncertain about how to make sense of that, I’d say that I share my mutual @grimreaperauthority ‘s headcanon about their memories of their past lives being wiped and thus remaining mostly fuzzy. I’d say that’s the case, save for the day of their death or anything particularly defining which shaped or changed their beliefs, imho.

• Relationships between colleagues aren’t forbidden, but it’s expected that one adheres to decorum and keeps their liaisons under wraps. Especially if there’s a major power imbalance involved, because you’d be cooked.

Unpopular opinions

I’ll probably have several of you trying to break down my door with pitchforks and torches in hand, but here goes.

• I don’t see Eric as Scottish, lol.

I haven’t fully watched the musical so I don’t fully get where the whole headcanon about him came into being, but it’s not just that. I tried looking his last name up, and ‘Slingby’ isn’t even a real surname - closest thing is ‘Slingsby’, which is of English origin. ‘Knox’, however, is a Scottish surname, so make what you will of that. 😉 (Yes, I unapologetically write Ronnie as a Scotsman.)

• I do not ship Sascha with Ludger.

I always saw the former as a very young student figure of sorts to him, and not just because they appear rather young to me. I’ve never seen them as a couple given their interactions in the manga, and there’s also the fact that Sascha seems to be a literal teen.

Whilst Sascha’s age hasn’t been stated in canon and they could very well be an adult for all I know, which would be highly unlikely, them as a ship just isn’t for me. Ludger as their father/brother figure, though? That’s where it’s at.

• I’m mostly indifferent to Undertaker. I don’t know why, but I never paid him any special attention. Like, he do be kinda fit, but that’s about it.

• I don’t vibe with the fanon interpretation of Ronald as a player or fuckboy - and not only because I headcanon him as on the asexual spectrum. Even in the manga, he appears to be (quite a major) flirt at most - which can also be backed up by how he disappears.

• If Othello could talk to women, he’d be like a more toned-down Ronald when he’s interacting with them, but shyer too. But he can’t, lmao - he’s forgotten how to. Takes personal space and being respectful to them seriously, though.

Bi Othello is my fav headcanon for him. I can definitely see him with a woman as well as a man. And though he’s often absorbed in his work or Dispatch shenanigans and doesn’t think about girls (or guys) all that much, he definitely likes a pretty one as much as the next man.

• I don’t see William as a prick with all the emotional range of a teaspoon and little empathy whatsoever. Is he too harsh on himself and his subordinates? Yes. Can he be an asshole at times? Also yes.

But is he a terrible person with no redeeming qualities whatsoever and a rock in his chest where a heart would otherwise beat? No.

He seems like he’d be an overthinker and feel extremely strongly towards people and ideas both, but tries to suppress this as he thinks that he needs to. Not only to remain impartial for the sake of professionalism, but also because how men in general are socialised plus his tendency to withdraw when he’s overwhelmed mean it’s difficult to confront his emotions.

• I do not see Ludger as German William, but rather someone who’s similar to him yet incredibly different in a lot of ways. William is pensive, almost overly fastidious, and coldly professional. Meanwhile, Ludger is reserved, a tad rough around the edges, and focused - but he’s surprisingly patient and better with conflict than Will.

If I have more, that’ll call for another post!

[thekiltongrammarwriter]

Something to placate my dear readers while I edit my oneshots as fast as humanly possible 🤭

Reader risking her life and purposely teasing the girls for a reaction. 18+ pipcara x fem reader thoughts below

I can just imagine you wanting to be such a little tease, a minx in Cara’s wards words, wanting nothing more than to watch both your girlfriends eyes widen and freeze, calculating and processing with there quite clever minds what just occurred. It’s been days since you had time with them, they are both going to and from the house lighting fast, Pippa with her signature smile and a proper kiss on your lips, Cara with her eager cuddle hugs and soft kisses on the crown of your forehead.

It’s finally the weekend and that’s when you decide to hatch your plan. It’s not a very elaborate plan, in fact its rather juvenile, but you know you’ll get the best reactions. You’re confident. You settle on Pip first. She’s sat on the couch, headphones on as she peers over her laptop, blue silver eyes eying the keys as she types. She looks so small and soft cuddled up on the sofa, her complexion pale in the lighting.

Your quiet as you tiptoe over to the couch, pip being the observer she is spots you the minute she catches movement from the side of her eyes, gone is the concentrating scowl her eyebrows have been in. Instead the tips of her lips rise up in a way that makes your heart flutter, and you smile back, pip makes grabby hands at you, lips set in a pucker as she pulls her headphones down, “why if isn’t my favorite pretty girl…come here I haven’t seen you all day. Gosh you look so pretty” she comments. You do as she says, cuddling fast and kissing her cheek. Pip is all smiles as she gives you attention, attentive in the way her kisses Lear over your neck, but you don’t want things to get heated not yet. So you pull away just enough for her to eye you.

“What have you been working on? It looks awfully long” you comment eying the computer.

Pippa’s eyes gleam, and she looks excited at your interest, her fingers ghost over your waist, her touch hot. “It’s an analysis I’m writing for my forensic class-“ she goes into detail about her class and the head teacher. But it’s only when she’s in the pippa fitz Amobi mode, when she’s too busy explaining all her logic behind her words that you softly, edge your way into her space.

You begin to kiss her neck softly, soft kisses that could pass as innocent, pippa’s fingers draw lazy circles as she speaks still, but it’s only when your lips graze over her earlobe, tugging with your teeth that she freezes. You can see the way her cheeks flash with red, her silver eyes halting, her grip on you tightening. She doesn’t know what to do, so you smile and immediately let out the most sinful, sweet, absolutely salacious, panties dropping moan into her ear.

It’s the way pip’s throat gulps, and her eyes darken in their own accord.

But it’s only when she catches your eye, sensing the way your teasing smile flits onto your features.

“You really want to play babygirl? I’d hate to break it to you but I’m feeling awfully bratty today and I just might make you pay for that little stunt.” You end up rushing to the other room, but pip is fast and sweeps you up, her once tiny frame seeming large as she drops you into the bed.

“I don’t think our Cara bear will mind that we’re having a bit of fun…especially if she hears what a minx you’re being. Naughty girl”. But she’s all soft sensual smiles as she slowly starts unbuttoning her jeans. You end up having to ask pip to stop after your third orgasm. Too tired and sore and full to care about the way you sound. So desperate and beyond needy.

With Cara you wait till she’s in the kitchen, alone. She looks awfully cute in her menacing nighties, painted pink bunnies jumping on her back and up her thighs. It makes you laugh. Because sometimes even if Cara comes of menacing she really is a marshmallow. Soft and beyond sweet inside.

Cara catches sight of you as she stirs the pasta in the boiling water, her brown oak eyes widen and she immediately smiles, “well hello sweet thing. Come to find me did you? Pip sent you? Sorry I’m taking a while. The food should be ready in about ten minutes. Half pass six to be exact”.

You nod, wrapping your arms around her figure and resting your head on her chin, you start of innocently enough, asking about her day like the sweet dedicated girlfriend you are. Cara answers, speaking some rather unlady like words about a coworker that makes you giggle and poke her sides.

Once you decide she’s rather busy you move to kiss her cheek, before moving your lips over her ears, and again for the second time you let out a soft eager moan. This one is rather cute, the kind that you know Cara is keen on, the kind that Cara often induces when she’s three fingers deep inside you, fogging your mind.

Cara’s fingers halt on the stove, you can practically see the way her eyes darken, much like pip she’s lost for words. But it doesn’t last as long as pip, because Cara’s immediate response is to grab you softly by your chin, her eyes flitting over you with a new kind of power, her voice carries no warmth, and you know your in for it.

“If you want to play around so badly, little dove, I’ll give you something to moan about. Or better it…our little pip told me about your little stunt just the other day, told me she gave you a proper fuck…but…I just know she’d love nothing more than to give you even more of a tell of now that you’ve done it a second time. So little love of mine, I want you stripped to the bone and atop our bed waiting for us”.