#source: when the function got crack

[papermariosuggestion]

[kashverse]

Hey! Not 100% sure if your requests are open, but can I get an SMAU of you doing a double take at a random hot guy the boys and you walk past on the street? Crack would be so funny lmaoo! Thanks, love ur work!😆🤭

read till the end to see choso in cosplay (not clickbait)

it was supposed to be a simple grocery run. a peaceful, uneventful, married couple activity. you and nanami were at the organic section—him carefully selecting the perfect tomatoes, you texting him from two feet away about getting more oat milk. normal. civil. domestic.

then it happened.

a man—tall, broad, effortlessly stylish—walked past you with a bulging bag of groceries. your eyes followed him. your head whipped so fast you swore you heard your neck crack. and beside you, nanami stopped mid-reach for an avocado, eyes slowly narrowing. “really?” he muttered, voice dangerously calm. you blinked at him, confused. “what?”

“nothing.” his jaw twitched. nanami kento, mature and self-assured, was obviously not sulking.

but you saw the way his grip on the avocado tightened. saw the micro twitch in his brow. your dear husband thought you were checking out grocery bag man. except you were not. oh, no. this was far worse. you turned to nanami, eyes wide, voice trembling with despair.

“he took the last loaf.”

nanami’s expression barely shifted. “what?”

“the last loaf, kento. the ethically sourced, imported-from-a-french-village, aged-like-fine-wine, vegan-friendly bread you waited weeks for—he has it.”

nanami’s world shattered. his entire soul left his body.

the betrayal, the injustice, the absolute audacity of that man, casually walking out with his bread like he didn’t just ruin two people’s week. you grabbed his arm before he could start forward. “babe, no.”

his fingers twitched, torn between rationality and primal rage. “he doesn’t deserve it,” he whispered, haunted. you spent the rest of the grocery run in silence. nanami didn’t even flinch when the cashier told him the total. he was mourning.

ah, evening walks. a staple of married life. you and geto, hands intertwined, nodding politely at neighbors like you were the wholesome, friendly couple everyone thought you were.  then you saw him. a man striding down the street, his pants fluttering with each step. the most perfect pair of bell-bottoms you had ever seen.

you grabbed geto’s arm, halting mid-walk. your jaw went slack.

“sugu—”

his expression darkened. his fingers tensed around yours.

“so that’s your type?”

you blinked, confused. “what?”

“oh, nothing.” he smiled, but it wasn’t a real smile. it was a ‘hmm, my love is a traitor’ smile.

you turned back to bell-bottom man.

“he’s wearing the exact pair you’ve been looking for.”

geto froze. the tension evaporated. he squinted. studied. analyzed.

“…cotton blend,” he murmured.

“definitely imported,” you added. you both stood there. staring. geto’s eyebrows twitched.

“i need to know where he got them.”

“we could follow him.”

“we absolutely could.”

and so, two grown adults—former sorcerers, parents, functioning members of society—spent the next ten minutes covertly (not covertly) stalking a man for the sole purpose of inquiring about his pants.

it was a good day. you and toji had just finished at the butcher, a prime cut of steak nestled in your bag, and toji was already humming about grilling it up with butter. then you saw the officer.

your head whipped around so fast toji felt it. his shoulders tensed. his jaw clenched. a cop? a cop? that’s what you were into? he could deal with gym bros, maybe even pretty boys, but an officer?

…he was gonna have to commit a crime.

toji was seething. fuming. trying so hard not to snarl about how he could handle you better than some uniformed pretty boy. then you leaned into him, tugging his sleeve.

“look at his gun.”

toji blinked. “huh?”

“that’s a customized SIG. high-end, lightweight, reinforced barrel—”

oh.

oh.

toji let out the deepest sigh of his life. his entire soul exhaled. you weren’t ogling some officer’s ass. you were checking out his gun.

for the first time ever, toji felt defeated by an inanimate object.

there were three things gojo satoru could not tolerate:

being ignored

being ignored in public

being ignored in public while you were looking at another man

so when he caught you staring—staring—at some guy while he, the love of your life, stood next to you in all his six-eyed, beautiful glory, he reacted in the only way he knew how. loudly.

“are you actually serious right now?” gojo gasped, clutching his chest. “ogling another man? in front of me? your one true love?”

you didn’t even look at him. you were still staring at sunglasses man, an impressed hum under your breath. gojo clutched your sleeve. “babe, look at me. me."

“he’s wearing chopard.”

the air changed.

gojo stopped breathing. his hand went limp. his pupils shrank. his jaw—previously running at a hundred miles per hour—snapped shut.

“ch-chopard?” his voice cracked. you nodded, grave.

now both of you were wailing.

“we could’ve been him,” gojo cried. “we could’ve been walking around dripping in wealth!”

“he looks so effortless.”

“his life is together.”

you both mourned the lack of chopard in your lives, heads bowed in devastation, like you had just witnessed your futures slipping through your fingers. that night, gojo went home and bought three pairs online.

sukuna had seen it. the way your eyes lingered. the way your gaze flickered over some gym bro’s barely covered pecs like you had just discovered the meaning of life. he crossed his arms, seething. “seriously?” you, completely unaware of your impending doom, glanced at him. “huh?”

“you checked him out.”

you blinked. “no, i didn’t.”

“yes, you did.”

“no, i didn’t.”

“yes, you did.”

“read his shirt.”

sukuna’s eye twitched. but fine. he’d play your little game. he begrudgingly looked over, prepared to see some cringe gym brand logo, only to be met with the words:

“I ❤️ MY PARTNER.”

in bold. right across the pecs.

sukuna froze. the world went silent. for once in his entire existence, he felt true, undeniable embarrassment.

“…oh.”

you smacked the back of his head.

the next day, sukuna walked into his gym wearing that exact shirt, except his was customized.

“I ❤️ MY PARTNER MORE THAN YOU LOVE YOURS.”

choso was panicking. he had seen you do it. the double take. the slight pause in your step. the way your eyes lingered on another man. his hands clenched into fists. his heart dropped into his stomach.

his brain? already drafting up worst-case scenarios. his soul? leaving his body. his spirit? crushed.

“please don’t leave me,” he whispered, eyes pleading. you blinked. “what?”

“i saw you looking at him.”

you glanced at the man in question. he was carrying a big shopping bag filled with sanrio plushies.

“…babe.”

choso swallowed. “just tell me now so i can emotionally prepare—”

“babe, i was looking at the plushies.”

choso went silent. the blood drained from his face.

he stared at the bag, then at you.

back at the bag, then at you.

then back at the bag.

“oh,” he whispered. he didn’t sleep that night. he spent hours on his phone.

on valentine’s day you opened the door, expecting something sweet—flowers, chocolates, maybe a heartfelt love letter. instead, you were met with choso.

in a inflatable cinnamoroll costume.

his entire body was swallowed by the plush suit. his face? peeking out of cinnamoroll’s giant, smiling head.

“…choso?”

“do you like it?” he asked, voice muffled through the fabric. you did not know whether to laugh or cry. he shuffled closer, arms outstretched.

“i’m your sanrio plush now.”

[redbird-tf]

Harmony

Sam winchester x younger sister x dean winchester

(More sam focused)

Summary: the brothers still had lots to learn about their sister, like the weight of her favorite harmony

Word count: 1.2k

Notes: the harmony i think of for reference

Warnings: angst, mention of death, violence

To say it had been a tough day would be an understatement it had been a tough few months. You were having a hard time adjusting to finding out you had two brothers, Sam was struggling to step into the big brother role, and Dean seemed to be doing the best out of the three. Of course, Dean was shocked, but he had been a big brother for years. The only thing Dean struggled with was the guilt and anger that you had been in this life alone for years.Hunting together was also proving to be a challenge. Dean and Sam had teamed up for years, but your independent nature often clashed with their established rhythm, making hunts more difficult. It would take time before you could truly function as a team.

If the boys had learned anything about you it was that harmony you were always humming. It wasn’t from any song the boys recognized, but it was the same every time you hummed it. Sometimes they’d hear it even when you weren’t around, because of how ingrained it was in their mind. Right now it was serving as the source of Sam’s annoyance. “Y/n i can't focus with your humming” Sam snapped from the passenger seat. You were lying in the back half asleep and hadn't even noticed you were humming. You let out a huff, abruptly grumbling out a half-hearted “sorry” which seemed to irritate Sam more as he slammed his book shut. “You know what? I've had it up to here with you.” He exclaimed turning to face you. “What did i do!?” You shouted back sitting straight up. “UH, the bruise on my face!” He mocked pointing at his black eye. “Thats not my fault!” You rebuttal, furrowing your brows “It wouldn’t have happened if you had just followed the plan” he countered “Your plan didn't work!”

“Alright, enough!” Dean’s booming voice made you both fall silent. “We all messed up, alright? Now knock it off.” He stated firmly. The car stayed silent, but he could see you two exchanging glares from the corner of his eye “Stop looking at each other” Dean commanded, and in sync, you both slouched back with your arms crossed. “Why do I always gotta be the frick’n mom” dean mumbled under his breath.

———————

“This it, Sammy?” Dean questioned pulling over. Sam looked down at his map “Route 46, the last spotting of a vampire was here” Sam stated stepping out of the car. “Got the dead man's blood?” Dean asked watching Sam sling the bag over his shoulder. Sam nodded leading the way into the woods. “I've never seen a vampire before” you whispered to Dean to prevent Sam from hearing you. “Well their not easy…” Dean paused seeing the flicker of worry in your eyes “Dead man's blood is about the only thing that will kill them, and they come in packs…but so do we” he explained trying to ease your obvious concern of messing up.

“Over here” Sam gestured for you to catch up. “Thats it?” You asked quietly, eyeing the old barn “There's only three in there” Sam said lowering his binoculars. You watched as they prepared their knives by dowsing them in blood, “be careful with that,” Dean stated handing you a dagger. You all crept to the back of the barn and snuck in through a cracked window. You dropped in a bit louder than intended, prompting Sam to shush you, annoyance flashing across your face. Tiptoeing over to the sleeping vampires. You loomed over them, waiting for Dean’s signal and when you got it, you pushed your danger hard into the vamp. He scratched hard into your arm but you held firm, only pulling away when you were sure he was down for good. You turned to your brothers “That was easier than expected”

You quickly realized you had spoken too soon as your body slammed violently intk the ground and your vision became a red blur. A burning sensation spread across your face and loud noises overwhelmed you, causing you to scream out for your brothers “i can't see! I can't see anything!” You cried in pure terror. The last thing you heard was sams voice drawing near before everything went black.

——————-

“It's been over three hours Dean” Sam's voice wavered while he paced back and forth. “She’ll be fine” Dean reassured him, adjusting the bandage covering your eyes before leaning back in the chair at your bedside. “What if she hit her head too hard?” Sam stuttered out. “She's fine,” Dean said sternly, though part of him was trying to convince himself. “We should take her to the hospital,” Sam insisted, balling his fist. “And say what, Sam? My sister got scratched across the face by a vamp” Dean explained the harsh truth. Sam sighed looking down at you, his lip quivering. “I'm gonna grab a beer,” Dean said, rising from the chair knowing he couldn’t hold it together much longer.

Once Dean had left, Sam knelt by your side and took your hand in his. Guilt gnawed him, knowing the last thing he did was yell at you for something as simple as humming. What's worse is that he knew you hummed to comfort yourself. A detail he had picked up on over the months. He’d watched you hum yourself to sleep, after hunts, or when the world felt overwhelming. Sam bit his lip feeling his eyes begin to gloss over. How could he have been so cruel? How could he call himself a big brother?

He closed his eyes and began to hum the familiar harmony, seeking his own solace within it. “Mom?” Your voice rang, barely louder than a whisper. Sams's head shot up “Y/n” he breathed out. His body flooded with Relief. “Sam?” You became confused as you abruptly sat up. “Woah, easy there,” Sam said placing his hands on your shoulder to steady you. “I-I can't see” stammered, panic creeping back in. “I know. You got hurt and we had to stitch you up. I can remove the bandage if you want” he explained gently in an attempt to soothe you. You nodded and Sam began to slowly unravel the bandages. You looked around and saw the bunker walls surrounding you, your eyes beginning to uncontrollably water.

Your figures brushed over the stitches on your face, tears beginning to well in your eyes. Your reaction was making Sam nervous “We did the best we could, it shouldn’t scar too bad” he tried to reassure you, but You stayed silent, your gaze dropping to your lap. “I thought i died, i thought..” you paused, “i thought you were my mom” you muttered. Despite the circumstances, a small laugh escaped Sam's lips “Why would you think that?” He asked with a slight smirk. “You were humming her melody” you stated blankly. Sams's smile dropped, and the guilt he didn’t know could grow any larger, grew “y/n, I'm sorry…i didn't know” he apologized, moving to sit next to you. You could hear the sincerity in his voice, but you couldn’t muster the strength to look him in the eye.

“She's awake?” A voice shattered the tension as Dean rushed to your side, unintentionally pushing Sam aside. He embraced you tightly “you gave us a scare there, kid” he breathed out with a chuckle. You mumbled a sorry into his shoulder before pulling away to meet sams gaze. The eye contact took him by surprise and it took him a moment to gather his words “y/n, I'm sorry for snapping at you, you didn't deserve that.” He watched as your gaze softened, but continued to press on“And…i won't hum that again, i didn't know” he explained lowering his head. You shook your head “No Sam, it's ok. You do it perfectly and…” he gazed up at you again, seeing a smile tug at your lips “It's comforting” Your tender tone washed away the heaviness in his chest. Sam mouthed a thank you, taking your hand in his as his thumb glided over your knuckles.

“Did i miss something?” Dean questioned glancing between you and sam, a hint of frustration that made you both laugh. “No no…i just” Sam stopped, taking a moment to appreciate the happy version of you that had replaced the distressed one he’d seen just moments before. “I'm just learning what it means to be a big brother” Sam expressed with a wide smile. Dean rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah, then you can watch her while i get some shut-eye” he said, giving Sam’s shoulder a light pat. Sam tried to rebuttal, but Dean cut him off “you wanted to be the big brother, welcome to the job,” Dean teased. He shook his head until he felt you lean into him. He glanced over seeing how you relaxed against him. This is the brother he wanted to be.

[robin-evry]

TWST with Acheron!Yuu. Declared by the mirror as "nothing" during the ceremony which attracted pitiful stares towards them coupled with the fact that they look like a lost wet puppy. They constantly forget things and is in desperate need of a GPS (grim is taking up the role of their functional braincell in order to get to class I fear).

Ourgh the boys seeing their magicless Acheron!Yuu shatter Malleus' dream in a single slash out of nowhere and finding out their true form (the white/red acheron on ult) is slowly fading away.

Malleus low-key about to double overblot cuz his first friend is in a state equivalent to dying: their color, sense of taste, and memories fading away, but they choose to push others to the light because to be an emanator of Nihility is to continue on against meaninglessness itself. 🥲

𝐓𝐖𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐘��𝐔 ⛩️☔

A drifter claiming to be a Galaxy Ranger. Her true name is unknown. She walks the cosmos alone, carrying with her a long sword.

During the opening ceremony Acheron yuu was about to release a slash with their blade but the coffin was soon open deciding to withhold their blade and investigate first.

Acheron!Yuu is not one to waste words. They prefer silence, speaking only when necessary, and often observe situations from the sidelines before acting.

When it was there to be selected for the dorm, the mirror was unable to identify any magical source from them so they kept searching but unfortunately it started to shake and cracks started to form when it was searching for magic in Acheron yuu soul it was decided that they were magicless.

Regardless many students like Lilia, malleus, Crowley and others could feel another worldly present with you as if instead of magic it was something else. Lilia was able to sense the sleeping abyss inside of them and tried to keep it lowkey with them to make sure not to wake it up, one of the biggest hints of Acheron!yuu was the alias of them.

Even then they decided to keep their true self away from others fearing they will be affected by the nihillity or would be better off rather than knowing.

Crowley tried to confiscate Acheron yuu blade but at night he was plagued by unimaginable nightmares resorting to giving back Acheron!yuu blade in exchange for not bringing it to school and releasing it from its sheath.

Vil once told them that they would look absolutely amazing as a model and will try to convince you to join the gig once in a lifetime and when they got back waiting for their answers Acheron!yuu unfortunately forgot

Due to them being an emanator of nihility or in other words a self annihilator their identity would soon disappear as well as their mind, their sense of taste, memories, and mind would crumble slowly until they're nothing but a walking corpse.

Due to their numbness of taste they're unable to taste the food that are in nrc and the good thing about it is that they are able to withstand Lilia's cooking which caused a questioning among the students when ever or not they're human or not.

Every time there's an overblot they will only release a portion of their power fearing a full scale attack would be too much and can cause death of the person that got over blotted.

During the dwarf mine ace, deuce and grim witness Acheron!yuu unsheathing their weapon and their entire body turn into a mix of white and red as well as their blade with one slash the monster was dude in an instant not leaving any trace of it being alive.

No matter the situation, they never waver. Whether facing headstrong dorm leaders or unpredictable students, they remain steadfast.

Though they seem distant, Acheron!Yuu possesses a strong sense of justice, particularly against corruption and tyranny. They don’t tolerate unfairness and will step in when necessary, Causing a disagreement between riddle.

There are rumors that they come from another world, but they never confirm nor deny it. Their presence feels both real and unreal, as if they walk between two worlds.

They would usually attend the dismonia dorm to spar with sebek and silver, sometimes Lilia plus they seem to always be able to win. They ask them if they can teach them some sword techniques but Acheron!yuu isn't sure.

During chapter 7 when malleus put the entire sage island to sleep, Acheron!yuu would release a slash that managed to cut down malleus spell and destroy the dream world even leaving a giant slash mark on the skies of the dismonia dorm.

Instantly everyone is hyper aware of what Acheron!yuu is capable of and when needing explanation from the others they replied with it's better for them not to know where this power originated from.

Even after explaining the nihillity towards the first years and others saying that it's pointless because they are already on their way towards being mindless walking corps many would incense wanting to save them.

Styx would start to wonder whether or not there are a threat or not after trying to calculate the possibility limits of their ability it's better not try to wake up the dormat abyss sleeping inside of them if not the world would be at stake, idia was already having suspicion towards them due to their alias being Acheron name after the river of the dead.

Acheron!yuu also work as someone to bring back lost souls towards the after life at night they would walk and bring dead souls towards their final resting place.

[gravedwe11er]

Some more texaid for the @keferon mecha au! Comes after part one and part two, though it can be read on its own with just the knowledge of the AU itself.

Cw: Vortex, a bit of innuendo and semi-graphic descriptions of violence and death

A new point of view on recent happenings in the shatterdome, and also Felix.

Or: Vortex is here, and he has Opinions.

Vortex really likes Felix.

Has liked him ever since he saw this quiet, boring-looking little doc sneak around the base at night, and instead of going to hook up with someone - like a normal fucking person would - breaking into the research lab and messing with quint corpses. At first, he thought it might have been an op of some sort, but no! The guy just really liked cutting the things apart. Which- Tex could relate, honestly.

Seeing Felix bumbling about in the dark and excitedly muttering to himself through the cams quickly became the highlight of his mind-numbingly boring days. And then, to absolutely no surprise, the man got himself caught, and things went from good to great real fast.

As he watches little Mr. First Aid dig dried blood out of his crevices, with a stolen butter knife of all things, he really has to applaud himself for how well it all turned out.

Here’s one thing about Vortex – he likes violence. Always has - it’s one of the very few fun things that was never in short supply during his life, and the same goes for his after-life. And now that his other sources of entertainment are largely, hah, dead in the water? He very much likes to indulge.

Despite that, the first pilot he killed actually was a complete accident. He’d been pretty freshly dead, floundering around in his new body, when whatever control he’d manage to wrangle from the mech had been ripped out from under his hands. In his horrified flailing, he somehow managed to jerk the guy’s seat so hard he cracked his skull open on the console, and that was that. Only once he felt his death throes through the neural link had Vortex even realized what had happened.

And fuck, was he livid! Now, let’s be honest, Tex could absolutely get behind some rough manhandling of his person in the right situations, but this was outright violating! And like hell was he just going to put up with it.

Here’s another thing about Vortex – he hates being told what to do. And gee-whiz, it really doesn’t get any more being-told-what-to-do than some tiny fuck crawling into what is now your actual head and moving you around like an overgrown puppet.

So, he kept pushing. The next few casualties were only partly accidental, him testing out his range of motion, so to speak. And once he figured out how to establish himself as the dominant consciousness in the mech, even with a pilot plugged in-

Hah, let’s just say they definitely weren’t accidents after that.

It was part spite, part entertainment, and part just wanting those bastards out, their minds grating against his consciousness and giving him the closest thing he has to a headache nowadays. And what fun it was! He’d never really gotten to kill people before, not on purpose at least – his minders always kept him on too tight a leash - and damn was it great to see those uppity little shits turn to red mush in his gears.

For a while, at least. Look, he’s a creative guy, but there’s only so many ways to kill a person with no opposable thumbs available for the job! Not to mention, he was sorta hoping they’d get the hint eventually. He thought if he showed his ability to function on his own and his inability to tolerate pilots, they’d kinda just- leave him to it.

But of course not – that would require those bastards in command to actually give a shit about their people. They never did while he was under their tender care either, so he shouldn’t have been surprised. Kinda stupid of him actually, but excuse him, he’d, hah, rather recently lost all his braincells. Still, it was a problem he needed to figure out.

Then the solution waltzed into his cockpit, first aid kit in hand and doing his darndest to resuscitate the latest thoroughly dead pilot, and Tex started having ideas.

Here’s one thing about Felix – he’s a real gentle, meticulous sort of guy. He’s seen it in the man’s treatment of his patients, in the way he always tried to check on the vital signs of Tex’s broken toys, even when it was super fucking obvious they’ve long since kicked the bucket. Even now, as he’s poking around in the seams of Tex’s pilot seat with a rag, he’s still displaying a level of care in it he hasn’t seen from any of his actual technicians. It’s pretty nice, being treated like an actual person for once.

And damn, it’s times like these he really misses having a human body. Having this pretty man on his knees and all up in his business like that would have been a lot better if he could properly feel it. Vortex-the-mech has sensors for pressure, temperature and structural integrity, but it doesn’t come anywhere near to what he was used to when he was alive. No sense of pain either. Boring!

But oh well; he’ll take whatever fun he can get. Aaand speaking of fun-

As Felix sticks his hand in one of the seat’s movable joints, Tex mentally reaches for the mechanism and jerks it back – easily slow enough to avoid, but more than fast enough to make the man jump.

Here’s another thing about Felix – under all his outwardly softness, the man’s got teeth.

“Fuck!” he shouts, and Vortex cackles, the mech’s internal vents clicking and hissing to convey his glee. “What is your problem?!” Holding his – completely unscathed, mind you – hand to his chest, Felix looks at the screen, awaiting some sort of answer with just the most hilarious looking scowl on his sharp little face.

Mentally kicking his feet, Tex sends his words out to display on the red glass.

JUST PLAYING, BABY

GOTTA KEEP THOSE REFLEXES SHARP!

Felix huffs, relaxing a little now. “How nice of you,” he says, snide as all fuck, reaching for the rag he dropped when trying to avoid getting his fingers pinched, “but let’s keep the fun to a minimum, please.”

Then he pauses, giving Tex’s screen a considering look. “But seriously, should I not be touching that?” he asks, concern twisting his features. “Does that hurt? Or tickle? I don’t really-“ he waves his hand in an ambiguous gesture, “-know anything about how all this works. Suppose that’s something I should look into…”

Aaand off he goes, lost in his own head. Actually worrying about him. Fuck, when’s the last time someone cared about Vortex that openly? Huh, long before he was ever called that, he’d say. Hard to remember. These days, Vortex is fifty tons of stainless steel killing machine, very much not a squishy human patient for the soft-hearted doc to be fussing over. And yet.

Damn, what a weirdo. What an odd little freak.

Vortex really fucking likes Felix.

Thank you for reading, and many thanks to my beta @jayden-writes for the help!

[eddiediazbuck]

hi!! i really loved your eddie fic "home"!! chris scared of y/n leaving made me feel so 🥹🥹

would you be able to write an eddie diaz x buckley!reader fic where the reader is also a firefighter in the 118?

Thank you so much for the request!

PROTECTIVE - EDDIE DIAZ

The tension in the firehouse of Station 118 was almost palpable whenever Eddie Diaz and Y/N Buckley were in the same room. Eddie, with his charming smile and confident demeanor, seemed to effortlessly annoy Y/N, whose sharp tongue and fierce independence often clashed with his playful, flirtatious nature. The situation was complicated further by the fact that Y/N’s brother, Buck, was Eddie’s best friend and partner at the fire station.

Eddie often found himself at the Buckley apartment, where Buck and Y/N shared a living space. What was meant to be a simple arrangement for Buck and his sister often turned into a battlefield whenever Eddie was around. The playful banter between Eddie and Y/N was a source of amusement for Buck, but it was also a constant source of frustration for Y/N.

Y/N Buckley was not one to back down from a challenge. Her determination and strong will had earned her respect at Station 118, but they also meant that she and Eddie were frequently at odds. Eddie’s flirty comments, which were meant to be light-hearted and playful, often struck a nerve with her. She found his constant teasing infuriating, not realizing that beneath his jokes, Eddie was genuinely intrigued by her strong spirit.

--- --- ---

Day-to-day life at the firehouse was a mix of adrenaline-fueled action and mundane routine. The team at Station 118 was a tight-knit group, and despite their differences, they functioned as a well-oiled machine when it came to saving lives. Y/N and Eddie’s professional relationship was no exception. They might have bickered off-duty, but on the job, they had each other’s backs.

Eddie’s playful nature never missed an opportunity to tease Y/N. “Hey, Y/N, did you lose a bet with fashion today?” he quipped one morning as she walked in, her expression already showing signs of exasperation.

“Shut it, Diaz,” she shot back, rolling her eyes. “You wouldn’t know fashion if it hit you in the face.”

Buck chuckled, watching the familiar exchange. “You two should just get a room,” he joked, earning a glare from his sister.

“Not in a million years,” Y/N and Eddie replied simultaneously, their voices laced with mutual disdain.

Despite their constant bickering, the rest of the team couldn’t deny the chemistry between them. There was an unspoken connection, a tension that simmered beneath the surface, hinting at something deeper than either of them was willing to admit.

--- --- ---

The day started like any other at Station 118. The team was gathered in the common area, going over the day’s schedule and cracking jokes. Eddie and Buck were engaged in a heated discussion about a recent basketball game, while Y/N sat nearby, rolling her eyes at their animated debate.

Just as the laughter echoed through the room, the alarm sounded. Instantly, everyone was on their feet, the camaraderie giving way to professional focus. They moved with practiced efficiency, each member of the team falling into their roles as they raced to the fire trucks.

“House fire reported on Elm Street,” Bobby Nash, the station captain, announced as they boarded the truck. “We’ve got reports of people trapped inside. Let’s move, people!”

Eddie and Buck exchanged a serious glance, the gravity of their mission settling in. Y/N was already geared up, her face a mask of determination. The rivalry between her and Eddie was forgotten, replaced by the urgency of the situation.

As they arrived at the scene, thick smoke billowed from the two-story house, flames licking at the windows. Neighbors stood outside, watching in horror as the fire consumed the building. The team sprang into action, their training taking over as they worked to contain the blaze and rescue the trapped occupants.

Eddie and Y/N found themselves paired up, working together to search the upper floor for any survivors. The heat was intense, and the smoke made it difficult to see, but they pressed on, determined to save anyone they could.

“Over here!” Eddie called out, spotting a faint outline through the smoke. Y/N was right behind him as they approached a closed door. They could hear faint cries for help coming from inside.

Without hesitation, Eddie kicked the door open, revealing a young woman huddled in the corner, coughing and gasping for air. Y/N rushed to her side, helping her to her feet and guiding her towards the window.

“We’re getting you out of here,” she assured the woman, her voice calm despite the chaos around them.

Eddie broke the window, the glass shattering as fresh air rushed in. He and Y/N carefully helped the woman through the opening, lowering her to the ground where paramedics were waiting.

As they prepared to continue their search, a loud crack echoed through the house. The floor beneath them began to give way, and Eddie grabbed Y/N’s arm, pulling her back just in time as the wood splintered and collapsed.

“We need to get out of here,” Eddie urged, his usual playful tone replaced by serious concern.

Y/N nodded, her heart pounding. Together, they made their way back through the smoke-filled hallway, their movements swift and coordinated. They had just reached the stairs when another loud crash sounded above them.

“Hurry!” Y/N shouted, her voice barely audible over the roar of the flames.

They descended the stairs as fast as they could, emerging from the house just as the roof caved in. The rest of the team was there to meet them, relief evident on their faces as they saw Eddie and Y/N emerge unscathed.

--- --- ---

Back at the station, the adrenaline rush began to wear off, leaving exhaustion in its wake. Y/N sat in the locker room, wiping sweat and soot from her face. She was physically and emotionally drained, the events of the day replaying in her mind.

Eddie entered, his usual swagger tempered by the day’s ordeal. He glanced at Y/N, his expression uncharacteristically serious.

“You did good out there,” he said quietly, breaking the silence.

Y/N looked up, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. “Thanks,” she replied, her tone softer than usual. “You too.”

For a moment, the usual animosity between them was absent, replaced by mutual respect and understanding. It was a rare glimpse beneath the surface, a reminder that despite their differences, they were a team.

Eddie hesitated, as if searching for the right words. “Look, I know we don’t always see eye to eye, but I respect you, Y/N. You’re one hell of a firefighter.”

Y/N felt a flicker of warmth at his words, the sincerity cutting through the usual banter. “I respect you too, Eddie,” she admitted. “Even if you do drive me crazy.”

A small smile tugged at Eddie’s lips. “It’s a gift,” he said, his playful tone returning. “But seriously, I’m glad we’ve got each other’s backs out there.”

Y/N nodded, feeling a sense of camaraderie that she hadn’t allowed herself to acknowledge before. “Me too,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

--- --- ---

Days turned into weeks, and life at Station 118 continued at its usual hectic pace. Eddie and Y/N’s relationship remained a mix of playful banter and professional respect, but there was a subtle shift in their dynamic. They still bickered, but there was a newfound understanding between them, a recognition of the bond they shared as firefighters and friends.

One evening, Buck invited Eddie over for dinner at the Buckley apartment. Y/N, unaware of the invitation, was less than thrilled to find Eddie at their doorstep when she returned home from a long shift.

“Great, just what I needed,” she muttered under her breath as she walked into the living room, finding Eddie and Buck laughing over a game on the TV.

“Hey, sis! Join us for dinner?” Buck called out, oblivious to the tension between his sister and best friend.

Y/N sighed, too tired to argue. “Fine,” she said, dropping her bag by the door and heading to the kitchen. “But I’m not cooking.”

Eddie followed her, a smirk on his face. “Need some help?” he offered, leaning against the counter.

“No,” Y/N replied curtly, opening the fridge and pulling out ingredients for a quick meal. “I’ve got it.”

Eddie watched her for a moment, his expression unreadable. “You know, you don’t always have to be so tough,” he said quietly.

Y/N paused, surprised by his words. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Eddie said, stepping closer, “that it’s okay to let people in sometimes. You don’t have to do everything on your own.”

Y/N stared at him, the familiar irritation mixing with something else, something softer. “Why do you care?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

Eddie shrugged, his gaze steady. “Because I do.”

--- --- --- 

Life has a way of throwing curveballs when you least expect them. It was a rainy evening, and Y/N was driving home after a particularly grueling shift. Her thoughts were scattered, a mix of exhaustion and the lingering conversation she’d had with Eddie. She barely noticed the slick road and the car speeding towards her until it was too late.

The collision was violent, the impact sending her car spinning off the road. Everything became a blur of pain and darkness as she lost consciousness.

At Station 118, the alarm sounded, pulling the team from their evening routine. “Car accident on Maple and 5th,” Bobby announced as they scrambled to gear up. “Multiple vehicles involved. Let’s move!”

Eddie and Buck exchanged a glance, their usual banter absent as they focused on the task at hand. As they arrived at the scene, the sight that greeted them was chaotic. Cars were scattered, some overturned, with injured people trapped inside.

The team sprang into action, each member taking on different tasks. Eddie and Buck moved towards a badly damaged car, working to free the person trapped inside. As Eddie peered through the shattered window, his heart stopped.

It was Y/N.

“Buck, it’s Y/N!” Eddie’s voice cracked with panic as he recognized her.

Buck’s face went pale, his professional composure slipping. “We need to get her out of there,” he said urgently.

Eddie’s hands trembled as he worked to free Y/N from the wreckage, his mind racing with fear and guilt. He could see her injuries, the blood staining her clothes, and it felt like a knife twisting in his heart.

With the help of the team, they managed to extricate Y/N from the car. Eddie cradled her in his arms, his usually steady hands shaking. “Stay with me, Y/N,” he pleaded, his voice choked with emotion. “Please, stay with me.”

Buck was by his side, his face a mask of anguish as he watched his sister’s unconscious form. “We need to get her to the hospital, now,” he said, his voice tight with fear.

The paramedics took over, loading Y/N into the ambulance. Eddie and Buck rode with her, their hearts heavy with dread. The usually confident and playful Eddie was a wreck, his mind consumed with worry for the woman he realized he cared about more than he had ever admitted.

---- --- ---

The hours that followed were some of the longest and most agonizing of Eddie’s life. He and Buck sat in the hospital waiting room, the sterile environment doing nothing to calm their nerves. Eddie’s mind was a whirlwind of emotions—fear, guilt, regret. He replayed every interaction he’d had with Y/N, every teasing comment, and wished he could take back every moment of tension between them.

Buck was equally distraught, his worry for his sister palpable. “She’s strong,” he said, more to himself than to Eddie. “She’s going to make it.”

Eddie nodded, but his heart was heavy with doubt. He couldn’t shake the image of Y/N’s bloodied and broken form from his mind. The realization of how much she meant to him hit him with full force, leaving him feeling helpless and lost.

When the doctor finally emerged, both men stood up, their faces etched with anxiety. “She’s stable,” the doctor said, a note of reassurance in his voice. “She’s going to be okay, but she’s going to need time to heal.”

Relief washed over them, but the weight of the situation still lingered. Eddie felt a wave of gratitude, but also a deep sense of responsibility. He vowed to himself that he would be there for Y/N, no matter what. The playful facade he had maintained for so long was gone, replaced by a newfound resolve to be the support she needed.

“Buck,” Eddie said, turning to his friend. “You should go home and get some rest. You’ve been here all day. I’ll stay the night and make sure she’s okay.”

Buck looked at Eddie, his eyes filled with gratitude and exhaustion. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t want to leave her.”

“I’m sure,” Eddie replied, his tone firm yet gentle. “I’ll call you if anything changes. She’s going to need both of us when she wakes up, and you’ll be no good to her if you’re running on empty.”

Buck hesitated for a moment, then nodded, recognizing the truth in Eddie’s words. “Thanks, man,” he said, clapping Eddie on the shoulder. “I owe you one.”

“No, you don’t,” Eddie said, giving Buck a reassuring smile. “We’re in this together.”

As Buck left the hospital, Eddie settled into the chair beside Y/N’s bed. He watched her sleep, his heart aching at the sight of her injuries. He reached out, gently taking her hand in his, his thumb brushing over her knuckles.

“I’m here, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice filled with emotion. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

--- --- ---

Y/N’s recovery was slow and painful. She spent several days in the hospital, her body battered but her spirit unbroken. Eddie was a constant presence by her side, his usual teasing replaced by genuine care and concern.

One morning, Y/N stirred from her restless sleep, her eyes fluttering open. The sterile white ceiling of the hospital room came into focus, and as she turned her head, she saw Eddie slumped in the chair beside her bed. He was asleep, his head tilted awkwardly to one side, his expression soft and unguarded.

The sight of him there, keeping vigil through the night, sent a surge of emotions through Y/N. She felt a warmth spread through her chest, a mix of gratitude and something deeper, something she hadn’t allowed herself to acknowledge before. Despite their constant bickering, Eddie had been there for her when she needed him most.

Y/N’s movement stirred Eddie from his slumber. He blinked groggily, his eyes widening as he saw her awake. “Y/N,” he said, his voice thick with sleep and relief. “You’re awake.”

“Hey,” she replied, her voice raspy. “You didn’t have to stay here all night, you know.”

Eddie rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t going to leave you alone.”

Y/N felt a lump form in her throat, the sincerity in his words touching her deeply. “Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Eddie reached out, taking her hand in his. “I’m just glad you’re okay,” he said softly. “You had us all worried.”

Y/N managed a small smile, her fingers curling around his. “I guess I gave everyone quite a scare, huh?”

“Yeah, you did,” Eddie admitted, his gaze never leaving hers. “But you’re tough. I knew you’d pull through.”

For a moment, they simply held each other’s gaze, the usual barriers between them gone. In that quiet hospital room, surrounded by the hum of machines and the scent of antiseptic, something shifted between them.

--- --- --- 

As Y/N’s recovery progressed, she and Eddie spent more time together. The hospital room became a space for honest conversations and shared vulnerabilities. Eddie’s presence was a constant comfort, his playful facade giving way to a more tender, caring side.

One evening, as the sun set outside the hospital window, Y/N turned to Eddie, her voice filled with curiosity. “Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked, her eyes searching his.

Eddie smiled, his eyes softening. “Because I care about you, Y/N. More than I realized. And I’m sorry for all the times I made things difficult between us.”

Y/N was silent for a moment, her gaze thoughtful. “I never hated you, Eddie,” she admitted quietly. “I just didn’t know how to handle you.”

Eddie chuckled, a sound that was both light and filled with emotion. “I guess I didn’t make it easy, did I?”

Y/N managed a small smile. “No, you didn’t. But I’m glad you’re here.”

--- --- --- 

Y/N’s discharge from the hospital marked the beginning of a new chapter in her life. While she was relieved to leave the sterile environment behind, the road to recovery was still long and fraught with challenges. Eddie, who had been a constant presence by her side during her hospital stay, continued to be her unwavering support.

As she settled back into the Buckley apartment, it became clear that Eddie’s concern for her had intensified. He was attentive to her every need, often to the point of being overprotective.

"Eddie, I appreciate you looking out for me, but I can make my own breakfast," Y/N said one morning, gently trying to ease his worry.

Eddie was in the kitchen, meticulously preparing scrambled eggs. He looked up, his expression a mix of concern and determination. "I know you can, Y/N. But you need to rest and focus on healing. Let me take care of you."

Y/N sighed, a small smile tugging at her lips. "You've been taking care of me non-stop since the accident. Aren't you getting tired?"

"Never," Eddie replied firmly, placing a plate in front of her. "You're more important to me than anything else."

--- --- ---

Eddie's overprotectiveness extended beyond the confines of the apartment. At work, he was constantly checking in on Y/N, ensuring she wasn't overexerting herself. This behavior did not go unnoticed by their colleagues at Station 118.

"Y/N, you okay? Need any help with that?" Eddie asked for the third time that day as she worked on a routine maintenance task.

Hen rolled her eyes good-naturedly as she passed by. "Eddie, she's fine. You've got to let her breathe a little."

Y/N shot Hen a grateful look. "Thank you, Hen. See, Eddie? I'm in good hands."

Eddie sighed but nodded, knowing his friends were right. "I just... I worry, you know?"

"We know," Chimney said, clapping Eddie on the shoulder. "But you've got to trust that Y/N can handle herself. She's tougher than you give her credit for."

Despite his friends' reassurances, Eddie couldn't shake his protective instincts. Every time he saw Y/N wince or heard her sigh in discomfort, his heart clenched with worry. He knew she was strong, but the thought of losing her or seeing her hurt again was more than he could bear.

One evening, as they sat on the couch watching a movie, Y/N turned to Eddie, her expression serious. "Eddie, we need to talk."

Eddie muted the TV and faced her, his heart pounding. "What is it?"

"I appreciate everything you've done for me," Y/N began, taking his hand in hers. "But you're smothering me. I need to feel like I can do things on my own again."

Eddie looked down, guilt and concern battling within him. "I just don't want anything to happen to you."

Y/N squeezed his hand. "I know. But I need to regain my independence. And you need to trust that I can take care of myself. We'll face any challenges together, but you have to give me some space."

Eddie took a deep breath, nodding slowly. "You're right. I'm sorry, Y/N. It's just... seeing you hurt, it scared me more than anything."

Y/N sighed. "I know. And I love you for caring so much. But we'll get through this together, okay?" 

Eddie's heart skipped a beat at Y/N's words. He looked up, meeting her gaze with a mixture of surprise and hope. "You love me?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N's cheeks flushed pink, but she didn't look away. "Yes, Eddie. I love you."

A rush of emotions flooded through Eddie—joy, relief, and a profound sense of gratitude. He had hoped for this moment, but hearing the words from Y/N's lips made it feel like a dream come true.

"I love you too, Y/N," Eddie said, his voice filled with sincerity. "More than I ever thought possible."

They sat there for a moment, letting the weight of their words sink in, the warmth of their love enveloping them like a cozy blanket. In that quiet moment, surrounded by the soft glow of the TV and the comforting presence of each other, they knew that their bond was unbreakable.

As they leaned in, their breaths mingling in the air charged with anticipation, Eddie and Y/N shared a moment that felt like the culmination of a lifetime of unspoken emotions. Their lips met in a tender, hesitant kiss—a gentle exploration that spoke volumes of their love and longing.

It was a kiss filled with a quiet intensity, a silent declaration of their deepest feelings. In that fleeting moment, the world around them faded away, leaving only the warmth of their embrace and the electricity of their connection.

Their hearts beat in sync as they melted into each other, each brush of their lips a whispered promise of forever. And as they pulled back, their eyes locked in a shared gaze filled with newfound understanding and a sense of completeness, they knew that this kiss was just the beginning of their journey together

[missbutterworthless]

[i’m not a violent dog. i don’t know why i bite.]

The lead singer of BOTB’s Season 4 projected underdogs, Arlo Beck of Penny Arcade, declined further comment in regards to the threatening of a member of the media when questioned about former band mate and fellow competitor, Seven Lawless of Soft Violence.

Further Info Under the Cut!

TW for mentions of addiction 🫶

Introducing Arlo Beck, lead singer of Penny Arcade, a pop punk band of humble origins known most for their musically delivered political commentary and their revenge anthems (it is of particular note that such anthems were not common in the Lawless Era, with the band leaning far more heavily into charged love songs. Which could mean nothing.)

Fun Facts!

Beck is an Aquarius!

According to an insider source, beyond singing, Beck is quite capable with the ocarina.

Beck is known to juggle at any and every opportunity, regardless of who may or may not be watching. (He is apparently rather talented as well.)

Beck is known for accessorizing with heart motifs, noted by a previous local publication to be a nod to fellow bandmate Rowan Hart.

Beck often carries a bottle of quick dry black polish for ‘manicure emergencies’. He is known to have addressed such emergencies while on stage after chipping a nail during a performance.

Beck is often cited as the source for Penny Arcade’s ‘gimmick’ of collecting loose change in collection bins during a dedicated song at every performance. The change is then matched and donated to queer and at risk youth. Beck remains firm that every member of Penny Arcade, past and present, is equally responsible.

Picture Easter Eggs and more Fun Facts!

Arlo is wearing a WWOD? bracelet in the pic! The band got together to make bracelets with Orion’s most recent catchphrase while waiting for filming to start. Arlo made his particularly fruity. He also made a keychain version for Orion.

The time on Arlo’s phone is a nod to MCx7. Seven is, well, 7. And Arlo is 1 & 2 because his initials are the first and second letters of the alphabet. Hence, 7:12.

Arlo’s initial tattoo utilizes the S in SD as an infinity symbol. He acknowledges it is cringy. And poetically tragic.

Not shown is his tongue piercing, which Orion chewed him out for getting because his tongue was swollen and his speech slurred for nearly two weeks!

As stated above, he likes to wear motifs of his band members! Because he is a doofus! Most common because it’s his daily accessories is a heart motif for Rowan, but he also has jellyfish pendants and vampire bite chokers for Iris and different color bee pins for Devyn depending on their hair color! Jazzy is represented in the case he carries his juggling equipment in, which he takes literally everywhere after she bought him one for his birthday years ago. He is currently racking his brain for what to do for August!

43 of the 57 missed calls on his phone were from Orion. He knows because Orion’s ringtone is I Don’t Dance from High School Musical 2.

He is heavily addicted to nicotine (to Orion’s chagrin) and became a functioning (for now) alcoholic after The Fight™️. Prior, he imbibed during social functions but never alone and never when he had plans. Up until the audition, he never partook in other substances but caved into peer pressure. Despite his snark and notorius RBF, he is a chronic people pleaser.

The eyebrow slit is a scar from slicing his eyebrow open in Lucy’s diner after crashing head first into the dish station and shattering a plate. With his face. The scar is almost entirely faded but he can no longer grow hair there. He’s actually really insecure about it and has considered getting the spot microbladed.

That’s all for now folks! I mostly wanted to share my art :) I adore @infamous-if and have been playing with Arlo as my MC since Day 1! He finally fully clicked in my head and after days of attempting to find a face claim or craft him in the sims I decided to crack open Ye Olde iPad and do it myself!

Please feel free to share any fun facts about your own Infamous OCs! Regretfully my friends stay firmly opposed to interactive fiction so I am starved for fellow Infamous fans

[cumulo-stratus]

Could you do a fic of a reader with chronic pain x Spencer Reid? Please just fluff and maybe angst but obviously it's totally up to you. I've been having a few flare ups recently and it sucks ass.

Maybe Spencer like low key just makes them rest all day even though they want to help out with a case?

Love your writing btw! :)

French press coffee[s.r]

Spencer insist you take a break despite your insistence

WARNINGS- mentions of chronic illness symptoms,

Spencer Reid x gn!reader ][ fluff/hurt comfort ][ masterlist!!

a/n- The reader is implied to have chronic fatigue, or something similar but let me know if anything is inaccurate!

1.3k

You couldn't hold back a grimace when you finally reached a standing position after much effort. The pain radiated through the rest of your body, making it hard to function, not to mention the fog blanketing your brain. 

But before you could even think about how to deal with the flare up, you dreadedly remembered you had work today. Well you had work (almost) everyday.

This meant walking to the train station with spencer. Then taking the 45 minute train ride, with Spencer. And then you and Spencer could finally get to work, only to then fly to god knows where and profile serial killers.

You internally sighed. You were in for a long day. But you couldn't let Spencer know that- or he would make you stay home from work like the wonderful boyfriend he was.

So you instead crept quietly out the door, wincing when it cracked slightly. As soon as you slipped through the door your shoulders relaxed and you padded into the kitchen to start coffee.

Or at least you tried to, but you were slowed down by the intense ache radiating in waves. Usually the pain was bearable, of course with the help of your accommodations, at home and at work- but not today. When you finally made it to the kitchen counter, you grabbed the kettle and started boiling water for the necessary caffeine.

Just because Spencer will accept any coffee, doesn't mean he isn't the eensiest bit a coffee nerd. He especially had a sweet spot for French press coffee. 

Spencer felt the first sip was just that much more satisfying when you had to work a little bit for it. 

Despite his wet noodle type physicality, he still always pushed his whole weight down on the pump. He would feel it slowly sink under his gaze and he would smile slightly. 

You smiled at this thought as you sank down into one of the chairs sitting around the kitchen table. 

But the smile faded as soon as it had placed itself on your lips when your mind came back to the pain aching through your body and fog coating your mind.

The whistling of the kettle woke Spencer, his face scrunching up at the unpleasant noise. With the hope of finding the source and stopping it. When your sleepy boyfriend broached the kitchen, he found you slightly hunched over the kitchen table in a chair.

but when you heard Spencer come in you stayed hunched until Spencer called your name and you perked up, noticing the boiling pot. 

Spencer noticed your expression flicker when you stood up, and took note of that and the fact that you didn't notice the kettle boiling at first. Spencer could read you like a book, and right then- you were saying you were in pain. Well Spencer had to read between the lines, but he was just as good at that. 

“Good morning my love,” Spencer mumbled into your shoulder, as he had now wrapped his arms around your waist while you poured the steaming water into the large canister. 

you just so conveniently turned around to greet spencer just before you got to the step of pushing down on the pump, spencer took a note of this as well. 

“good morning” but this time the smile actually reached your eyes when you spoke, Spencer always brightening your mood. you even forgot the pain for a brief moment when he pressed a soft kiss on your lips, your eyes easily drooping closed. But when he pulled away to finish the coffee, not commenting on your casual avoidance of the physical exertion portion of the process, reality came back harshly. 

You took this opportunity to sit down, closing your eyes and sighing for a moment at being off your feet. Again, Spencer noted this to himself. 

A couple minutes later, he approached you quietly, two mugs in hand. One was black with at least a couple tablespoons of sugar, and the other with just an average amount of cream and sugar. 

Spencer pressed one into your eagerly awaiting hands, and the other onto the table while he put the coffee grounds away.

You could feel your boyfriend watching you carefully ever since he entered. Not only was he a profiler, but so were you. Although both of you knew he was watching, and the other knew, neither said anything. It was like an odd competition of who would bring it up first, you or him.

He won. “How's you feeling today?” Spencer spoke with a casual tone but the question held weight. the weight of the whole morning that had come before.

you smiled weakly as a response and shrugged, saying “ not too bad, i'll just bring my cane,” you tried to sound casual but Spencer could see right through you. 

He threw a knowing look, his eyes holding empathy. You couldn't meet his gaze. “Angel-” Spencer couldn't get the rest of the sentence out before you interrupted firmly. “No- I'm going to work. We have cases, people need us.” You had a determined look on your face, you were always stubborn. 

Spencer thought this to himself as his gaze softened, a sympathetic look creeping up.   “Honey, you need to take care of yourself, it's okay to not go to work for one day. You'll be better help with the case when your not in pain and your more clear headed-”

You found it hard to argue, stuttering a bit before huffing and saying “but the team needs me…” your argument was meek, as you had essentially already accepted defeat. 

Your disagreement made Spencer furrow his eyebrows, causing the familiar worry crease between the two form.

Though it was hard for Spencer to stay mad at you, especially when you looked so sweet like that. Sat at the kitchen table, a warm mug of coffee cupped between your hands, your hair a mess from sleep. 

there was still a substantial amount of coffee left in your mug. You had forgotten it for arguing with your boyfriend.

Spencer Instead pushed himself up from his chair with a heave, making his way to you a couple steps away. 

He reached out a hand. A compromise. You took it silently in surrender to Spencer's insistence. Although you didn't say anything Spencer could tell you were slightly embarrassed at needing to take a break. 

He offered a small squeeze of your hand as reassurance, hoping to provide some comfort. 

Spencer used his hold on your hand to lead you to your shared bedroom. He left a chaste kiss on your lips and left you to get ready. 

He instead used the time to call your boss and explain the situation. You could vaguely hear Spencer speaking to someone on the phone as you pulled out some of your (Spencer's) most well worn lounge wear. 

“Hey Hotch, ya, ya- oh really- are you sure?” You could only hear Spencer's side of the conversation as you entered the living room with your cane in hand. 

Spencer threw you a smile as you walked up to him, taking his cheek in your palm and placing a soft kiss. 

Once Spencer hung up the phone, he explained that Hotch had told him that it was mostly a paperwork day. This meant Spencer could stay home with you all day(as the workaholic he was he always brought his paperwork home anyways).

Despite having woken up not more than an hour ago, you were ready to sink into the couch, resting your cane against the side.

You weren't really listening to what Spencer was saying very well as the fog was growing thick in your mind. 

Spencer almost immediately noticed, and sat down next to you on the couch, pulling you into his side.

You leaned into him, wrapping your arms around his waist and nuzzling into his chest. Spencer placed one arm around your shoulder and used the other to work on some reports. 

You spent most of the day in his arms, sleeping, or talking with your boyfriend. You tried doing some mission reports but your brain felt like sludge and your muscles ached. 

But it wasn't as bad, because you had Spencer there with you.

The End

Taglist- @spencers1wifey | @mvndfvelds | @mindfullycriminal | @luce-reid |@ferrjulie | @khxna | @il0vebeingdelulu | @lover-of-books-and-tea | @jaden-reid | @eli-chris

Join my taglist here!

[sweest]

BLOOD ON THE ICE

Read Here

Supernatural Wincest NHL AU Fic

Summary

Dean Winchester, a rugged and respected defenceman, is a fan favorite and the Alternate Captain for the Colorado Avalanche. Still chasing his first Stanley Cup, he must now step up and hold the team together with Captain Benny Lafitte sidelined for the rest of the season.

Just when he thinks things can't get worse, trade deadline day brings an unexpected arrival to his rink. His estranged younger brother, Sam. Once a Canucks’ first-round pick and former prodigy, Sam is now an Av, eager to prove himself after a rocky debut. For the first time since childhood, the brothers share the same blue line. Their on-ice chemistry is undeniable, but off the ice, things are anything but functional.

As the playoff race tightens and old wounds rise to the surface, Dean and Sam are forced to face the history between them before it shatters their shot at lifting the Cup.

TEASER below cut



“The pressure is on in Denver.”

The segment kicks off with old clips of his team. Slow motion shots of breakouts and slap-shots. Him and Benny cracking up at something on the bench during last year’s playoffs. Then a shot of Dean with blood on his jersey, and a grin on his face.

The host of ESPN NHL Tonight speaks, sounding like he’s enjoying himself too much. “With Avalanche captain, Benny Lafitte officially moved to LTIR following surgery on his shoulder, all eyes turn to alternate captain, Dean Winchester. Winchester is a fan favorite, veteran defenceman and now the de facto leader of the Avs as they head into the final stretch.”

His co-host chimes in, agreeing. “Yeah, Dean has worn that ‘A’ for three seasons but now he’s got the full weight of the room on his shoulders. No looking to Lafitte in crunch time. And with the Avs in contention for playoff position, expectations for Winchester are sky high.”

Dean shifts in his seat but doesn’t look away.

He’s heard it all before. The praise, the pressure, the way the spotlight always cuts both ways. He’s too old to be flattered and too tired to pretend it doesn’t get under his skin.

“Not to mention,” the host adds, leaning forward, “we’re three weeks out from trade deadline, and Colorado’s front office has been tight-lipped. No confirmation yet but multiple sources say the Avs are looking to add depth to their blue line and bottom six.”

Right. Because he’s not enough. But Dean’s not stupid. He knows depth wins Cups. There’s always going to be someone younger, faster than him. Dean bites the inside of his cheek.

“And on that note, let’s talk about Sam Winchester. Dean’s younger brother, Canucks first round-pick who’s had a rough go of it this season. Injuries, inconsistent ice time, and word is–”

Dean clicks the remote, cutting the reporter off mid-sentence, and the screen goes black. He stares down at the brown bottle in his hands for too long, then drains what’s left of his beer. He sets the bottle down with a dull clink, then leans back into his sofa with an audible sigh.

[syschotic]

it's really sad that those who spout shit about "anti-recovery" have really no fucking clue about what harm reduction is and the concept of doing something with minimal harm instead of something very harmful.

i am 18 months sober from alcohol. i am a year clean of sh. sure maybe some of the things i do to function with my system worsen my dissociation. but tell me- what's more harmful, the chance my dissociation gets worse? or having literal spots on my brain from excessive amounts of drinking?

i think it's time we as a community shut the fuck up about what other people do in their recovery.

i don't wanna hear any dumb mfer tell me im damaging myself by letting introjects be source connected when i got into dangerous situations daily when i drank heavily. "oh but it's bad for you to do that!!!!" cunt i found myself in a CRACK den one time, do you think that even begins to compare?

im clean n sober. no matter how i choose to deal with my did - i am a million times more recovered than i was during my addiction. and i think more people in the community need to wake the fuck up and realise some of us have bigger problems to deal with than dumb syscourse.

[wenumsmol]

0ut 0f Ctrl

Alpha!Choso x Omega!Fem!Reader. A/B/O AU. No Jujutsu Sorcery. No cursed energy. TW: Depression, PTSD, Agoraphobia, Panic Attack, Drug use (reader), reader has a drug dependency, implied past abuse, stalking(?). 4.9k wc. Minors do not interact.

00C Masterlist

Chapter 1 - Data Drop: Unanticipated

You sit in the corner of the dimly lit internet cafe, your fingers tapping rhythmically on the worn-out keyboard. The soft glow of the monitor casts a faint light on your face, highlighting the heavy eyeliner and dark lipstick that have become your armor against the world. Oversized flannel drapes over your frame, offering a semblance of comfort. The cafe is buzzing with low conversations and the hum of computers, a backdrop to your spiraling thoughts. The air is thick with the smell of stale coffee and the faint whiff of something burnt—an unmistakable aroma that clings to the cracked vinyl seats and sticky tables.

Today is one of those days when just getting out of bed felt like a monumental effort. Depression is a bitch with the way it’s got your mind in a constant fog, making it so much harder to function on the most basic of levels. Being an omega without a pack has been taking its toll on you for quite some time. Posing as a beta is even harder since you’re more sensitive to pheromones than other omegas you’ve met. It makes it harder to get an ordinary job, and blending in is a nightmare. Working from home is the only option for you if you want to stay out of sight and out of mind. So you stay holed up in your apartment doing freelance work online and staying away from people as much as possible. And for the most part, it works.

In your mind, being alone gives you more freedom. No one to tell you what to do, no one to answer to. But it’s lonely, too. The ache in your chest never quite goes away, and you’re constantly on edge, hyper aware of your vulnerability as a single omega. Add that to the shitty self esteem issues and general feelings of worthlessness that come along with having been rejected by your previous pack, and you’ve got yourself quite a combination.

You’re used to it, though, and you’ve got your coping mechanisms. Whether they’re healthy or not is beside the point because surviving is surviving. ‘This is the way,’ you think, mocking the Mandalorian mantra as you sift through your emails. It’s a mundane task but it helps keep the worst of your thoughts at bay, among all the other shit you get up to on the internet. When a message from Naoya catches your eye—a reminder of the package that should have been delivered today, your eyes temporarily widen. It’s about fucking time you heard something from the bastard. You click open the message:

Naoya: got a present on the way. keep ur eyes peeled.

Your fingers hover over the keys before you reply:

You: ain't home right now.

Naoya: what u mean? where r u?

You: out.

Naoya: get your ass home then. this shits important

Naoya is a drug dealer. Yes... your drug dealer to be exact. You’ve been getting your supply from him for a few months now. Something to keep the edge off when your anxiety attacks become too much of a problem. It’s not like you can go to a doctor for it obviously. They’d sus out your omega status instantly, then you’d get an ankle monitor and regular visits from government employees who would dictate your lifestyle down to the most minute detail until an alpha selects you from a registry. Something you’ve been trying to avoid because you had enough of being someone’s property.

The whole process is gross and incredibly outdated, treating omegas as if they’re children needing guidance and protection. You’ve had firsthand experience with the kind of arrangement that could go horribly wrong, thanks to your parents — the very source of your traumatic past. Being in a pack is supposed to be a positive experience, but you couldn’t be more disgusted with the way Alphas take advantage of their authority over omegas, using them for sex, breeding, and other vile acts. You refuse to be trapped in a hell like that.

Out of desperation, you turned to the dark web and found an information broker, Dakusuta. They were a useful contact as they had connected you with a drug dealer who delivered with minimal social interaction. You preferred it that way–no reason to leave the comfort of your home. You paid, they provided. It had been going on for months, with you gradually stockpiling your supply and taking doses as needed. It was a convenient service, albeit morally questionable. But hey, what else would you do without it?

Naoya’s insistence strikes you as odd, though. What is he? Your fucking parole officer? If you miss a delivery, it’s usually no skin off his nose. You’ll get it when you get it. But today, he’s adamant. ‘Something’s up his ass.’ The thought nags at you, but you push it aside, focusing instead on the flickering screen in front of you. 

This internet cafe is a couple blocks from home and it took you a lot of mental prep to step outside your door earlier. It took almost two hours of pacing in your genkan and staring at the doorknob before you could actually make it outside. It’s a necessity really. The social media brain rot helps to fight the parasites in you that tell you to do a cartwheel off a tall ledge every moment free of stimulation. Your dumpster posting combined with your regular work is the perfect distraction to keep your nerves in check while you tolerate being in a public space for as long as you can. Thanks to your WiFi being out, you didn’t have the option to stay inside your depression cave if you wanted access to the internet. Coping… All there is is coping. 

Music thrums through your cheap noise-canceling headphones that help drown out any chatter of your public surroundings. The soundwaves of Twilight by bôa keep you calm, the soft tunes filling your ears and seeping out at a quiet volume beyond your personal session. “Your word and my word and her word is...Yesterday, today, and tomorrow.” You sing under your breath, nodding your head and bobbing it back and forth to the beat of the music.

As you open a new browser window to visit a message board and skim through recent posts you miss the way the guy sitting a distance away from you looks in your direction. He stares for minutes on end before he stands up, stretching his arms lazily, and he makes his way over to your table. 

Your fingers move on their own accord, tapping out your feelings in a new post. Your only method of purging rather than confiding in someone who truly knows you. ‘Everyone’s fake anyway. It doesn’t matter,’ you always think, continuing to type away.

He’s a blur in your peripheral vision as he casually invades your carefully constructed bubble, taking a seat right next to you. The only way you sense his presence is a subtle shift in the air around you from his movements, the noise canceling on your headphones doing its job a little too well right now. Awareness makes your fingers fumble over the keys, a momentary pause in your activities.

It takes a few seconds for your brain to register the movement in your peripheral vision, and the sudden intrusion startles you. Your eyes flicker towards the stranger, brows pinched. You don’t remember seeing him sit down and you didn’t smell him coming, so he must be wearing scent blockers because he’s definitely not a beta. He’s far too big for that.

As much as you want to ignore him and stick to your decision to not interact with anyone on your outing, it’s not looking like a possibility. He’s an alpha after all and your damn omega instincts won’t just allow you to disobey any command for attention. Be it intentional or not, you can feel the pull of his alpha telling you “Look at me, Omega.” 

‘Did he sniff me out?’ 

You have half a mind to tell him to fuck off but you can only see negative outcomes from that path of action; for one, any pushback could trigger him to assert dominance over you. It might not necessarily be the most likely thing to happen because you don’t know him or what kind of alpha he is but the truth remains that you know alphas well enough. Your best bet is to play it safe and not cause a scene.

 You glance up at him, a non-committal question mark on your face, and he’s looking over at you expectantly. His lips are pursed like he’s waiting for some response from you, and you realize a little belatedly he said something to you. Your brow furrows ever-so-slightly in confusion while you hesitate for a second or two. When you finally pull your headphones off, he repeats his question.

“bôa, huh? Not bad…” He leans back in his chair, fingers twiddling the metal piece on his hoodie string. His eyes are trained on yours, noting the subtle tension in your body, the hesitation in your movements. He speaks slowly, words deliberate, giving you time to process them and respond. There is no aggression in his tone, and yet your defenses go up automatically.

“You like that kind of music?” he asks, gesturing towards the earphones now hanging around your neck.

“What?” you ask, dumbly, eyes blinking rapidly. Your heart rate picks up speed and you’re not sure if he’s too close or if it’s just your anxiety fucking with your depth perception. Heat rushes your skin and you feel the need to push back your chair to gain a little personal space. It screeches across the floor, and you wonder how long he’s been sitting there. How long has he been staring at you? ‘Is he…stalking…’ Your thoughts fragment, once focused and now reduced to a lag with jitters that feel like a thousand needles pricking your skin everywhere, all at once.

“Twilight, right? ‘Your feelings and mine are all holy and you give me an inner sanctity,’” he quotes the song playing faintly from your headphones,  “My brother used to play that one a lot when we were kids.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees as he breaks eye contact to glance around the cafe. His nonchalant demeanor contrasts with the obvious tension radiating from you. You don’t like his confidence. It makes you feel that much more unsure of your next moves.

Despite the noise around you, it feels like you and the alpha are in your own domain, the other patrons fading into the background. “I don’t know many people who listen to that kind of stuff these days,” he continues, looking at you once more. “It’s good, though. Nostalgic, even.”  It’s a beat before he speaks again, but his dark eyes remain fixed on you, assessing, measuring your reaction. “You seem a bit tense…”

You swallow thickly, trying to fight the rising panic in your chest. “Sorry, I just...I’m—” 

“Waitin’ for a package?” He cuts you off, glancing down at your phone that lies face up on the table between you. The screen still shows the DM chain you had been looking at. His tone is casual, almost friendly with a hint of amusement in his voice when he adds, “Must be somethin’ real important if you’re checkin’ your messages every five minutes, huh?”

Your eyes follow his line of sight, your anxiety momentarily forgotten. “How’d you...?” You sputter out a few half-formed sentences before trailing off. The ‘who, what, when, where and how’ of the matter are a whirlwind of thoughts assaulting your brain as you shake your head slightly. Your palms sweat at the idea that he might be a cop. ‘This… is bad.’

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, your eyes dart around the cafe, trying to see if anyone else is watching you. No one seems to be paying any attention to you two, but you can’t be too careful. ‘If he’s a cop then he’s probably not alone.’ No one seems to stand out but what the fuck do you know? This isn’t your area of expertise. If anything, nevermind not being the big fish to catch in any drug operation or whatever shady people call it. You’re a tadpole in the mix. No, you’re algae. It’s not your world and you’re just on the outside looking in. You’re just self medicating, not involved in the business.

For the first time since he sat down next to you, you take a good look at him. Eyes scanning over his black acid wash jeans and a black hoodie with the words ‘Truth. In. Every. Byte.’ written in bold green lettering across the front. A black leather jacket and a crossbody messenger bag complete his attire. He doesn’t look like what you assume a narc would fucking look like. Nothing like an undercover cop you’d seen on TV. Your eyes find their way back up to his face, taking in a stunning combination of soft and angular features: a strong jawline, defined cheekbones, and a striking black line slashing across his nose which could either be makeup or a tattoo. His lengthy black hair is gathered into two messy buns, with unruly strands spiking out every which way and middle parted bangs tucked behind his ears. The sight of his sly smile on his lips steals your attention, the hint of a canine pricking their plushness.

‘Oh, that’s dangerous.’ You think, unable to tear your eyes away from him. The alpha is attractive. That much you can tell. It’s not like you to get caught up in the attractiveness of random strangers, but then again, you’re not usually subjected to such intense scrutiny. Let alone an alpha aura like his. Encounters aren’t that common an occurrence either and for good reason. 

He notices the way your eyes rake over him, his smile widening faintly at the attention. Most omegas don’t pay him a second look—the piercings, the tattoos, the unconventional fashion sense—but you’re different. Your gaze is different. There’s curiosity there, a flicker of attraction in your eyes, but also something else. Fear. It’s subtle, but he catches it all the same. He likes that a little bit. It makes for a good chase.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I ain’t here to cause you any trouble,” the alpha says, noticing the way you tense up even further when he calls you that pet name. 

Your reaction to his endearment doesn’t surprise him. He can see the way your body stiffens, your muscles bunching up under your oversized clothes. He takes it all in, filing it away for later. “Relax,” he tells you, his expression a picture of calm. “I’m not gonna bite.” His eyes then roll to the side as he scoffs at his own choice of words and you don’t know if it’s self depreciation or arrogance at play.

‘Like hell he’s not gonna bite,’ you panic internally at the notion. Time dilates, each moment stretching out like taffy letting your anxiety build. Tremors rush through your body, graduating from a subtle shake to an intense quaking. The world around you blurs with a suffocating weight bearing down—

He watches you as you spiral internally. It’s like watching a trainwreck in motion, unable to look away. Despite your trembling frame, you’re holding yourself together surprisingly well. Your teeth beginning to chatter is the only giveaway of the turmoil going on inside your head. Anxiety, he guesses, recognizing the symptoms. He’s seen it before, in himself even. And he only waits, hoping that just like you seemed to contain yourself for as long as you could, you’d recover the same way.

“Hey, hey. Calm down,” he tries, his voice just above a whisper. He notices that you're bordering on a panicked state, and he’s quick to try and ease you out of it, not wanting you to suddenly drop on him.. He extends a hand towards you, slowly and carefully, intending to touch your shoulder but stopping just short of actually making contact.

He lets out a soft sigh. “You need to calm down.” He says, his voice firm and authoritative as he leans in close, his eyes locking on yours. “Breathe.”

And you feel the gentle alpha command deep within your chest, right next to what always feels like a bundle of bees wreaking havoc on your nervous system. His proximity to you is overwhelming, the smell of Oakmoss and violet from his leather jacket filling your nostrils. His eyes bore into yours, demanding your attention. ‘Breathe,’ he said, and you try to, you really do.

You desperately try to inhale, needing more of his alpha scent, but your breath keeps catching in your throat because of how faint it is. The rising panic overwhelms its effects, making you exhale raggedly while your lungs work overtime. A numbness spreads through your lips and you wish he would remove the scent blocking patches from his neck.

After a moment of no change, he swiftly retrieves a small tin from your bag and gives it a shake, confirming the sound of pills clinking inside. Then, he grabs a water bottle from his own bag to set on the table before popping open the tin. With gentle precision, he carefully fingers a small tablet and brings it to your lips. “Open,” another command, his voice soft but firm.

You blink, too focused on your labored breathing to register what he’s doing until you feel the cool surface of the pill against your lips. Confusion and a hint of fear flash through your eyes as you stare at him, but he doesn’t look away. ‘Open,’ he said, and your mouth parts almost involuntarily, the pill sliding in. Your throat feels dry as sandpaper, and swallowing is difficult. He notices that too, and within seconds, a water bottle is uncapped.

With a steady grip, he holds the water bottle against your parted lips. His eyes dart from your face to the bottle, watching you take small sips. “Now, swallow,” he says, a hint of approval seeping through his voice. “Good girl.” 

The cool and soothing water slides down your parched throat, but it does little to ease the tightness in your chest. He’s still there, still hovering close to you, his dark gaze never wavering. The whole thing feels oddly intimate, his presence fighting against the wave of anxiety threatening to drown you. It’s a support that you’ve never had before and you cling to it.

The alpha lowers the water bottle, his hand resting firmly against your trembling arm. His thumb brushes gentle reassuring circles against your skin with unexpected tenderness. “Better?” he asks, his voice still quiet and smooth. Soothing.

You nod, not trusting your voice to speak. You’re acutely aware of his touch, of the way his fingers feel against your skin. You reflexively swallow, trying to clear the lump that’s lodged in your throat. As your mind clears you consider the variables. This alpha approached you knowing things about you that he shouldn’t; The package arriving at your place soon and the tin of pills stashed in your bag. He’s not a cop because if he was then why would he give you a dose and not arrest you? 

“Who are you?” You ask, your voice barely above a raspy whisper. Your dilated eyes bore into his. Curiosity fights with caution in your expression as you wait for his answer. 

He smiles faintly, responding slowly. “Names are just words,” he murmurs, his low voice deep and resonant. Delivering his words with a sense of resignation, as if he's simply stating facts rather than engaging with the conversation.

‘Fuck you.’

“Don’t Bullshit me,” you reply immediately, your voice stronger than before. Starting to feel better after his intervention has  some of your usual confidence—long absent due to your depressive state— returning. “I want to know who you are and what you want from me.” The drug is kicking in, making your mind move slowly but it’s helping you focus your faster than usual thought process to a decipherable speed. Yeah this fucker’s stalking you for sure. And it could be paranoia. It very well could be, but nobody knows about your little habit. There’s no one that could know..

He looks at you with a playful smirk and says, “Careful now. That’s not how you say ‘thank you,’ is it?” His tone is lighthearted, but there’s a hint of a warning in there too. He lifts one of his pierced brows, giving you a sarcastic look.

You falter slightly at his comment, realizing he’s right. You do owe him a thank you, but you’re not in a place to offer it, so you keep your mouth shut. 

He shakes his head with a low chuckle, sensing your turmoil. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m just fuckin’ with ya.” He releases the grip on your arm and leans back, the chair creaking under his weight.

“I’m just someone who’s lookin’ out for you. Whether you realize it or not, I’m not here to hurt you,” he continues. “There is someone closer to you that does want to hurt you though. Your fairy godfather Naoya’s got you tangled up in some shit that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. But…” he pauses, his thumb worrying his lower lip. “I’m here to offer you a little help…if you want it. You’ll have to follow my lead, though. Do exactly as I say, when I say it. Got it?”

Some goddamn nerve. “What the fuck are you talking about? What’s this about Naoya?” you demand, trying to keep your voice steady. You’re aware that you’re pushing your luck with the way you’re speaking to him but you can’t stop yourself. You don’t like being kept in the dark.

He shrugs, unphased by your hostility. If anything, he finds it amusing. He doesn’t mind that you seem to be a bit of a spitfire. In fact, he finds it kind of cute. Even more so because it reminds him of himself. He sighs softly, his shoulders rising and falling with the motion.

Your eyes narrow as you observe him. ‘I set aside being a chickenshit to come out here. I came out of hiding for some fucking WiFi of all things.’ You’re berating yourself internally.  You glance toward the tin of magic in your bag, fingers itching to reach for it. The cafe’s din recedes into the background, and all you hear is the echo of your own ragged breathing. ‘One more… Maybe one more.’

He notices your eyes flick toward your stash and snatches it from your bag, moving it out of your reach. His movements are so quick that they're almost a blur, and the tin disappears into his pocket before you can even protest.

“Oh, none of that shit, focus,” he warns, his voice low and sharp as he snaps his dexterous fingers twice for your attention. The daring look on his face, a silent reprimand for your attempt to seek solace in a pill. He knows that look you give him in return. He’s seen it before. The temptation to bury reality in a haze of oblivion. He knows how easy it is to slip down that rabbit hole and how treacherous the climb back up is.

His face darkens, slight frustration carving deep lines into his features. His words are an insistent prod reminding you that you’re not sitting here alone. “Anyway, Naoya’s pure shit up an infant’s back on a hot day, if you know what I mean. Been keeping tabs on him, and guess what? He’s been skimming off the top of his family’s shipments and using your address for his little drop-offs—not that you’d notice. He’s slick about it, too—someone else picks up his shit and leaves yours outside for you to find, so you’re none the wiser. Delivery confirmed. And now, he’s cooking up a scheme to throw you under the bus, while he waltzes away scot-free. That Xanax order you placed? Forget about it, it’s not happenin’—Don’t look so fuckin’ sad about it. He’s swapped it for a heap of something stronger, alright? It’s about to land on your doorstep with someone else’s name slapped on it. When Zenin’s men come knocking about their missing product, you'll be the one they find. Not Naoya. You’re just a pawn in this, sweetie. Sorry to tell ya.” He punctuates his revelation with a bitter laugh.

Your breath hitches, taking everything in and feeling sick to your stomach. You don’t even have a personal relationship with this man. It was all business and nothing more than that yet he chose to set you up. ‘Does he know I’m an omega—that I can’t do anything to stop this?’ The Zenins are a widely known criminal Organization here in Japan. You’ve seen them on the news time and time again with headlines and coverage about drug trafficking, omega trafficking, gambling, extortion, loan-sharking, and protection rackets. You name it and they’ve done it. These people are the real deal and if they get their hands on you, it doesn’t take much imagination to figure out which of those crimes will be applied. That’s if they don’t kill you. But who’d let an untouched omega go to waste? It’s like your life turned into a True Crime podcast overnight and you’re being forced to listen on the sidelines. “No… No I—”  

The alpha’s eyes widen briefly when he sees the color drain from your face.

 “I think I’m... gonna go home now.” If he couldn’t read lips he’d have no fucking idea what you just said because although your lips were moving, no sound was coming out. Not a peep.

His gaze sharpens as he sizes you up, clocking the tremors racking your body and the panic returning to your voice. “Nah, you’re not going anywhere,” he declares with finality, shaking his head.

“What’s the point?” you mumble.

“Not happenin’,” he snaps, his voice slicing through your haze of despair. “You’re in no state to handle this alone.” He breathes out through his nose, gaze softening slightly. A flicker of genuine concern breaks through his tough exterior. It’s clear that you’re overwhelmed and on the verge of shutting down. Having you out in the fray on your own is a no-go. His alpha won’t have it.

“Why do you even care?” 

“Because from the looks of it, someone needs to care,” he retorts, his irritation tinged with a hint of desperation. “You’re not thinking straight, and you’re as stable as a house of cards in a hurricane. Trust me, going home isn’t gonna fix shit. Haven’t you been listenin’ baby girl?”

“Then what’s the alternative?” you ask, a touch of defiance sparking in your eyes.

His pupils constrict as he leans in close, his hand cupping your face with a grip that borders on possessive. His fingers splay wide, holding you in place as if he’s determined to imprint his words. “You’re not giving up,” his voice low, urgent. “And you’re damn sure not going anywhere alone. You’re coming with me.”

Your breathing picks up, a warmth swirling in your chest again from the magnetism of his alpha aura. Your omega whines at the back of your conscience, wanting, needing to go with him. You feel a flash of vulnerability that you've been keeping tightly locked away these past few years come to the surface. Your heart threatens to beat in a forbidden rhythm over this interaction and you hate it. You hate that you left your home. You hate Naoya and the info broker that set you up with that bastard in the first place. You hate that you like how his hand feels against your touch starved skin and his intense words you can’t make sense of. That barely there Oakmoss and violet blended scent hanging in the air between you.He’s being tender with you. Why? What is the actual fucking reason? It’s burning you up on the inside. You hate it and you love it and you want to go home.

“You stick with me. You do what I say. And, ideally, you stop popping pills like they’re goddamn breath mints,” he smirks, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. There’s something else there instead… longing? No, that’s bullshit.

“Why?” you challenge, meeting his gaze with fire in your eyes.

“Because I said so, Y/n,” he replies, his tone authoritative, concern etched into every line of his face. 

You want to question the tone he’s taking with you further but all that is pushed aside at the mention of your name. Your eyebrows shoot up at the sound of it. “Who the FUCK are you?” you blurt out, voice cracking with disbelief. You’ve never seen this guy a day in your life and somehow he knows your name, your extracurriculars and the true crime clusterfuck you’re caught in. 

His smirk fades into a serious expression, the lines around his mouth tightening. “I know it’s a lot to take in,” he says, his voice low and steady, trying to bridge the gap between the unknown and your growing panic. “But you need to trust me right now. There’s no time for any more explanations. We gotta get a move on.” His eyes dart around the cafe in quick assessment. “For the sake of your comfort, my name is Choso. But you might know me better as 'Dakusuta’.”

00C Masterlist

[terrible-at-aliases]

uhhh,, just an idea i felt like putting down,,,,,, idk man,,,,,,,, (920 words) (~3-5 min read)

The lamp hesitated into a soft glow, shining timidly amidst the jet black forest of furniture. The light bounced off the mirror and to his wide, blue eyes. The sound of quick, shallow breathing echoed through the dark air.

Right beside the light was the fox, dishevelled from the nightmare that played prior to his awakening. The room remained indiscernible, his eyes far from focused. He could feel his heart racing through his chest.

The vulpine lifted himself off the bed, feet asleep, and stared at his own eyes. Tired and out of his mind at the moment, he zoned out of consciousness for a minute or so before his vision refocused, the buzz under his paw-pads growing clearer. Recalling his mind's late-night movie, he looked down at the source.

The tails were barely functional after his little stunt a few months ago. There was no use for them, not unless he'd actually try to restore them. And why should he? He no longer needs the ability to fly on his own. He has a whole damn spacecraft to his name.

And then, the idea struck through the fuzz and haze. He doesn't need a second tail to fly. He doesn't need the second tail at all.

Hastily wriggling into his gloves and slippers, he padded out of the dark room, through the moonlit hallway, all the way to the workshop. He didn't really notice how loud he was, but it wouldn’t matter, anyway. Tails slept like a baby on most nights. His vision remained varying and inconsistent, accidentally stumbling on the stairs a few times and tripping up on the flat floor.

The fox scurried through the tools, searching for his perfect solution.

Bingo.

He unsheathed the tenon saw from its protective leather case screwed onto the wall.

There was a thin sprinkle of sawdust on its blade. The light of the reflecting moon invaded the workshop and made the steel glisten in his hand. He adjusted his hand to the grip happily, taking in the beauty in front of him.

The kit held one of his tails down, looking down at the pathetic, spindly thing. To be rid of it, his heart leaped at the thought. He tuned out every other sound, every other movement, as a smile cracked through his fur, eyes pinpointing the appendage, raising the saw with a shaky hand, and in a single moment—

Slice.

He looked down, and strangely, his tail was moved out of the way. But something wasn't.

Everything in sound was muffled, like cotton in his ears. On the table, shaking and bleeding, an ungloved hand. The saw had cut through half a wrist. Almost instantly, the realisation hit him like a boulder. He dropped the tenon saw and looked behind him, the kid's eyes wide and panicked. It was Tails.

Without saying a word, he got up from the table. Quickly, he switched on the light, located and opened the first-aid cabinet. The fox set the dark green and white box beside the other's arm. This was usually the part where he left the guy to figure things out himself. He started to walk away, when—

“N-Nine…” a small voice choked out.

Nine's eyes landed back on him then his shaking arm. The wrist was badly cut on the back side, deep enough to raise concern over the bone itself.

You can't perform first-aid well with one arm.

The fox hesitantly sat back down, a lake of guilt pooling up to his ankles and growing bigger with every drop of blood on the table. The lake had the viscosity of tar, dragging him down with every movement he dared make.

“Hold still,” he commanded, less so with authority than wishfully. Nine wrapped his wrist up in bandages and applied pressure for a few minutes.

“I’m…sorry,” Nine hesitated, “I should have seen your hand and stopped.”

“Th-that's not what I'm upset about,” Tails spoke up, his voice hoarse from the pained panic, “why did you try to cut… it off?”

“It's useless-”

“It's a part of you.”

A short pause.

“The worst part. It's caused me no good,” Nine scoffed.

Tails bit the inside of his cheek, unable to counter the fact. Nine finished tending to Tails’ wound, looking at him with sleepless and cold eyes, wrapping the bandages with little gentleness. Tails could notice .

“Wh-why'd you only think of this just now? Did you have a bad dream or something?”

“Mind your own business.” He packed up the kit and went to leave.

“Hey, I'm not leaving you alone after that.” Tails grabbed onto Nine's sleeve with his good hand. “We don't have to talk, I know you don't like talking to me.”

A beat passed.

“Just… let me make sure you don't try anything stupid like that again.”

“It wasn't stupid, it was brilliant!”

Tails wore an exhausted, irritated expression, sighing, “Sure, yeah… ‘brilliant’, as you always are, especially after another 2-hour night of sleep.”

The sarcasm was not received well. “What do you know about genius, Bright Eyes? Aren’t you just a living trail, following Sonic without another damn thought? That’s all you’ve ever been!” The words stung the other fox, clearly upset now. Tails’ brow furrowed a bit, eyes and he left his chair, walking past Nine.

“Must be pretty pathetic to exist being barely a third of a trail.” The remark flung out his mouth, Tails quickly realising his own statement. He looked back immediately, eyes wide and concerned.

Nine was turned away, facing the window.

“Nine, I didn’t mean—”

“Leave.”

No longer was the thought of talking a favourable decision. But with him, Tails took the saw.

———————

i originally set out for this to be hurt/comfort but this angstier route feels better,,,,, ill probably make a comfort part 2 if i get enough notes,,,,,

i haven’t written in a while, so mistakes are inevitable.

[redhoodinternaldialectical]

Reading Kid Devil as Trans

@swamp-spirit gave me the broad outline of a trans Eddie reading and I ran with it into oblivion :3 also hi @batbaffle tagging you cause I remember you being excited about this

I'd like to start off with a little bit of scaffolding for how this reading is going to function

Firstly I posit that the way the Blue Devil comic series treats the role of Demon/Superhero is very easy to read as analogous to a trans experience, to the point that if you choose to interpret 'Demon/Superhero' as a gender, then Eddie is straight up trans!

Secondly I posit that because many transphobes view being trans as a kind of demonic infection, Eddie's character arc in Teen Titans volume 3 has accidentally replicated a transphobic view of what being trans is like.

So, this reading is necessarily hostile to the narrative of TTv3, but I need to be clear that I'm not asserting that that narrative is transphobic! The audience choosing to join the war on demonic pacts on the side of the demonic pacts is not something it would make sense to expect the authors to anticipate! Don't go giving out hate mail for this one.

This essay is going to be utterly enormous, so without further ado, I hope you enjoy reading it under the cut!

Point One: Demon as a Gender

We're going all the way back for this one to Blue Devil #1 for this one! Now, as we go through this comic what we're going to do is mentally replace "Devil Suit" with "Drag King Makeup" and replace "Demon" with "Trans Man" or just "Trans Person".

The Blue Devil suit drag King outfit is a costume designed for Daniel Cassidy's role as an action movie villain

Yet, despite it being just a prop, it makes Dan (feel confident and) powerful

(also note that the suit broadens the shoulders and that Dan is beardless with longer hair underneath the mask)

Then a real Demon Trans Person wanders in and recognizes Dan as being a sibling! And is confused as to why Dan is fighting them.

(also note how similar Nebiros' general shape is to that of a xenomorph, the trans-ist of all alien monster things)

This is honestly pretty weird considering that usually demons powerful enough to have a name and 'cosmic' powers also have the capacity to sense whether someone is supernatural or not, and nothing about the suit being simple special effects tips Nebiros off.

It stops being weird when you swap demon from a species to a gender though. That's just Nebiros assuming that Dan happens to be pre-op/pre-HRT

Then, without any intention of doing so, the demon trans person turns Dan's demonic nature trans nature into reality. By pure recognition the act stops being an act, his egg is cracked, and Dan is forced to face what he really is now

Dan is not pleased about this. He's still thinking of himself as a human with an affliction. It's not world ending or anything, but it's still... an issue. A concern. The adults around him vow to support him through this trouble. Even when he accepts that the suit being attached is permanent, he resists becoming a superhero at every turn and insists that he's still normal.

Eddie though? Well he just saw a guy get force masc-ed and it blew his tiny little mind with how friggin COOL it was!!!

(Kid sees a guy who looks like Satan's gay clubbing cousin and thinks "this is absolutely what a superhero looks like!" and he's so right for that honestly)

In fact Eddie's SO on board with this shit that he goes on to make his own Devil suit start dressing like a boy too (following pages are Blue Devil #15 onwards) like this comic doesn't even have much to do with secret identities and yet this is still so much of an accidental outting

(sorry quick tangent here: Boy Wonder as a source of anxiety when Jason Todd wound up being the only 'Boy Wonder' that Kid Devil ever got to team with prior to TTv3 is making blorbo brain go brr)

Dan is frightened by the idea of a kid jumping into the world of danger that these suits being trans presents, but he and his aunt are ultimately supportive and through the power of queer family they save the day together

And the people around Eddie, especially his parents, are worried that all this Hero and hollywood stuff is not the right lifestyle for a growing kid in a way that echoes the idea of the queer, bohemian lifestyle corrupting the poor innocent youth

But the comic repeatedly asserts that the suits are who they are now for both Eddie and Dan. Not only is returning to normal not an option, it wouldn't be a good outcome either!

Now, y'all are reading this shit on tumblr. We're all sitting around the bonfire together here at this Devil's Sacrament, so you're probably already aware of this, but I do gotta make mention of the fact that Demon is already a gender for some people. The xenogender crowd have had this shit on lock for years now, and combined with everything else, I feel confident in simply accepting Demon as a gender for the rest of this analysis!

From hereon out this essay shall take it as literal truth that Eddie's gender is Demon, his role as Kid Devil is a form of social transition, and his character arc in Teen Titans volume 3 is mainly concerned with his medical-magical transition and the fallout from that.

(sorry, one more tangent: I actually think there might be a stronger reading of Danny as intersex. The involuntary nature of the change honestly fits a lot more closely with an intersex person finding out that their body is hard wired to do something very different with their gender than they expected. There's also a scene I didn't talk about here of when Danny first goes out in public that reminds me less of being viewed as a binary trans person and more of the times when I used to walk around town with my DDDDD cup tits in a pushup bra and a beard. He becomes a fascination and a spectacle in a way that very much mirrors my experience of presenting signifiers of both genders at the same time as blatantly as possible, which is obviously not how all intersex people express their gender, but like the way intersex people make headlines, the way intersex people are viewed as 'combinations' or 'deviations' - it all feels more like Danny getting mobbed by curious onlookers than it does my day to day of being visibly trans. Idk there's potential here, but ultimately this essay is about Eddie first and foremost.)

Point Two: They Want Him to Walk Out of Hell.

It's time to meet the demonic pact that we shall be fighting for!

To make a long story (TTv3 #42) short, Eddie is given a spooky candle behind a church, and then goes to Zackary Zatanna in order to try and figure out what it is and what it does. Zack tells him it's basically a teleportation spell and asserts that if Eddie uses it, he could definitely teleport them right back, no problems. Eddie then immediately finds out that Zack lied to him and they're both stuck in LITERAL HELL until further notice.

The demon who made the candle and gave it to him is Neron, who is a quintessential example of the deal-maker-soul-taker archetype of demon and was essentially understood to be The Devil Himself in the Underworld Unleashed comics. He is unsurprisingly here to make a deal for Eddie's soul (or, well actually no, he's not here for his soul. Strictly speaking, he's only asking Eddie to become his apprentice once he hits 20, which I find to be an intriguing distinction, even though the narrative basically treats the ideas as interchangable.)

Now this deal is pretty clearly bad news (Neron's deals always go sour and becoming his apprentice is heavily implied to mean coming under his control too)... but lets step back a bit shall we? What exactly is Eddie's other option here? What is Zack suggesting they do as the voice of reason in this scenario?

He is suggesting... that they WALK OUT OF HELL.

I cannot get over the sheer mad audacity of fuckin-

just-

just WALK out of the actual literal bowels of Hell itself completely unprepared

like WHAT??? No. That is completely unreasonable.

...When you tell a certain variety of religious transphobe about how gender affirming care drastically reduces suicide rates and very clearly improves quality of life, they aren't swayed. To them, gender affirming care is inherently damaging in ways that are much more important than temporary bodily pleasure - and more important than any amount of pain a trans person could possibly go through in life. There is no possible justification to them for perverting your flesh away from God's plan/"what nature intended". To transition is to give yourself over to the Devil in their minds.

They will insist - despite the enormous amount of logic and evidence to the contrary - that if you just keep walking the straight and narrow path long enough, you will find a way to be happy while destroying/repressing your true self, and you will surface back into the daylight, and you will be normal, and human, and whole, and holy.

When you tell them that to not transition would be agony, they will demand that you walk out of Hell.

Satan, on the other hand, says He can remake you in your own glorious genderqueer image, and the only risk is that your family might betray you for it.

Eddie accepts Satan's bargain and is granted absolute, brilliant, gleaming euphoria

And his family betrays him.

Now, take strong note of the fact that both of them are burning in this Church, because this brings us to-

Point Three: He's Not Even Really a Demon... Except When It Would Hurt Him to Really be a Demon.

A major plot point is that his powers aren't actually demonic at all; Neron only activated a dormant meta-gene.

So why the fuck does he burn when entering a church, and why are multiple people capable of sucking the demonic power out of him?! To include an Exorcism fully working as intended! Like it's extremely weird and notable that as far as I can tell, Kid Crusader's exorcism legitimately would have worked.

Essentially, any time it would hurt Eddie to be a marginally enhanced human, that's what he is; any time it would hurt Eddie to be a demonic being, that's what he is.

To the narrative there is no contradiction. His refusal to remain a normal human, the contract itself, is the sin that corrupts his humanity and the nature of that sin is to never have his desires truly granted because Neron cannot preform miracles as God can - or even if he was capable of it, he won't. Because he's evil.

This is almost word for word the religious justification for the double standards around gender. So as far as transphobia is concerned, a trans person's refusal to remain a normal human, the act of transition itself, is the sin that corrupts our humanity and the nature of that sin is to never have our desires truly granted because according to them surgery and HRT cannot contradict or supersede nature, or even if it could, we would never be truly satisfied because to contradict the proper nature of things is evil. Thus the butch lesbian is never a real woman because she isn't acting right, and yet the trans woman who does all the right actions is never granted status as a real woman either.

Point Four: What's So Bad About Being A Demon Anyways?

TTv3 frames Eddie's desire to have superpowers and to be a demon as bad in a variety of ways. However, it never seems to make a good argument for why it is so morally wrong for him to want and receive superpowers. Like, sure, maybe being indebted to a demon isn't healthy, but the narrative treats it as a sin, as Eddie having committed an immoral act which requires repentance or at least absolution.

I refuse to consider the goal of becoming a superhero and saving people to be blackhearted, so the only good argument I can see for this is that Eddie willfully risked other people's safety by accepting a gamble that could put him under Neron's control.

Here's the thing though

This is the point at which I look the narrative in the eye and say "I think you're a lyin lil bitch!" and choose to take a character at their word above and against the rest of the evidence that the text itself presents to us.

Future Eddie from a timeline where he turns 20 and does in fact go with Neron says he's doin good and that leaning into and embracing the demonic power is nice actually and I am gonna believe him on this!

Again, this isn't really the narrative's fault, it was not originally designed for this, but combined with the rest of the analysis, this strongly reminds me of the way that trans people are taught to essentially fear our older selves. Like there's this sense that we're going to get worse and go too far and become one of those unreasonable queers who's always miserable.

It's gonna be bad! It's gonna be so so bad! You'll lose all your morals as you're inducted into the cult of gender!! Actual proof of harm? Who needs that shit! We all know that gender non-conformity might seem innocent at first, but it's a slippery slope!

So ya know what? I just don't give a shit! Oh the narrative says he's evil? M'kay well have you considered that I don't vibe with that?

I cannot even fucking count how often I've seen characters only be allowed to increase their queerness when they become villains, and become less queer when they learn a moral lesson. I cannot COUNT the number of times that a character has had to rip out everything that made them relatable to me in order to fit the mold of normality at the end of the story as some kind of """"feel good wholesome life lesson""""" ending. I cannot c o u n t the number of times I have seen queerness attached to or equated with monstrosity and for the narrative to demand that both be excised for the good of everyone.

Like idk how ubiquitous this is, but the sense that getting what I want is supposed to be evil and that anyone who would give it to me is also evil is so familiar that it instinctively makes me want to scream.

So for the purposes of this essay, when I see that Eddie gets to be MORE demonic in this timeline and keep all his friends and has a mentor who encourages him to embrace his inner demon? I am going to throw every scrap of evidence that this is the 'bad timeline' out of the fucking window willy nilly because fuck that, good for you Eddie, I hope you get even demon-y-er!!

Point Five: He Just Be Actin Real Fuckin Queer Okay?

The cigarette kisses - just- just LOOK at this!

Look at this shit!!!

A wise person once said that sometimes the sexual tension between gay men and lesbians is thick enough to cut with a knife, and baby every panel of them doing this shit is a FAT slice of that gay squared pie!!! I cannot express how jealous I am of this, like hot fuckin damn, I have zzzzerooooo physical attraction to women, but if I had Eddie's powers I would sit at the lesbian bar and kiss the butchs' cigars lit all fuckin night

Suddenly long hair. Tons of trans guys grow their hair out or paint their nails et.c. once they transition. It's a hell of a lot easier to be comfortable with your own gender non conformity in the fem direction once you no longer feel like fem presentation is a threat to your own identity.

He never wears a shirt if he thinks he can get away with going bare chested. You best believe that after I get top surgery the shirts are comin OFF and they are not coming back on unless I receive multiple threats of getting escorted off of the premises lmao It speaks to a beautiful newfound comfort in his own skin.

The Dysphoria/Closet Hoodie. He has an outfit to disguise the shape of his body so that he can avoid harassment and weird looks and it does not even work.

Big Mood my guy.

The trident to tail - packer to bottom growth/surgery connection

The trident is a mechanical, artificial phallic object that acts as a symbol of Demonic power. It is also a rocket that he rides by sticking it between his legs. Eddie also stops using it after his medical-magical transition, at which point he can use his own body for transport. I trust you can pick up what I'm putting down here.

Point Six: The Cruelty of His Arc's Conclusion

This is how Eddie's soul is saved. His demongender is violently ripped from him by an extremely misogynistic cult leader and the source of his transformation is destroyed while he's unconscious.

Being freed from the looming doom seems to have lesser or equal emotional weight to the distress at having been forcibly de-transitioned. When presented with a nearly identical scenario to the first soul bargain, he has to be bodily dragged away from signing a second contract.

When given the choice freely, Eddie clearly finds being a demon to be worth just about anything and everything.

It's also super worth noting that this parallels the way informed consent is sometimes viewed. Like, bodily autonomy seen purely as the freedom to make the wrong decision. What good is an honest Devil when the price is still the damnation of your immortal soul?

So, now he's a human again for the rest of his life. What, pray tell, is this character arc suppose to have been about?

Wellllll... He starts off as impulsive, reckless, kind, loyal, loving, bad at fighting, and willing to risk selling his soul to be a real demon. At the end of this character arc he is impulsive, reckless, kind, loyal, loving, bad at fighting, and willing to outright sell his soul without even a glimmer of hope of any other outcome in order to be a real demon again. The only change is that he's been forced back into his assigned gender of human and he has given up on ever being a Hero. He just hangs around being a friend to the heroes around him. Like the whole arc seems to boil down to Eddie learning that he was never cut out to be a Hero and he shouldn't have tried.

That's his "good ending". That's his happy ever after.

Okay, look, I know I said "don't send hate mail about this" but that was specifically about the trans thing and actually Volume 3 of Teen Titans is weirdly cruel to Eddie, and I do kinda want to fist fight someone about it??? Like, why the hell did they make nearly all of his plot roles revolve around him getting his ass kicked SO BADLY that the entire teen titans team is sabotaged by his ineptitude.

I've read a fair few issues with this guy in em now, and the ONLY fights I've seen him win are 1) When he teamed up with Jason and 2) When he teamed up with Jamie Reyes. That's it. Verses THRICE joining a fight and ruining it so badly that the villain(s) win within three panels. He goes to a Dennys to be sad in his depression hoodie and gets beat down by like twelve guys. He is constantly getting nothing but the short ends of sticks and then guys keep thwacking him with those sticks.

It's not even a punchline, or fodder for a training montage, or a vehicle for a 'you don't need to fight in order to be a hero and do good' message, like there's no purpose or enjoyment to be had, he's just a barbie doll getting whacked against the kitchen counter until its head comes off

My Worst Treated Characters list now reads as follows:

Stephanie Brown in almost everything

Eddie Bloomberg in TT v.3

Jamie Reyes in Injustice 2

Jason Todd in general

Genuinely like, who's grandma got killed by a Kid Devil figurine?!

Anyways Eddie Bloomberg did nothing wrong and deserves no criticism and to re-transition as soon as possible with an even cooler and much more powerful demon form that is actually properly demonic and lets him do everything he wants forever!

[handeaux]

Memories From Half A Century Ago; The Cincinnati Tornadoes of April 1974

On the evening of April 3, 1974, your narrator interviewed a woman who found a perfectly new, pristinely crisp, twenty-dollar bill in her front yard. This random occurrence of good luck became newsworthy because her miraculous benefit had floated down into her yard from a passing cloud that had recently spawned an F5 tornado.

At the time, I was not a reporter exactly but everyone that evening became either a reporter or a source. The memory of that day remains so fresh and clear it seems impossible that it transpired exactly fifty years ago.

In the fading afternoon, a heavy storm blew in as I drove a clunky Ford Econoline van from the Hopple Street Viaduct onto Westwood-Northern Boulevard. I was, at that time, a senior at the University of Cincinnati desperately yearning to graduate and move on to the next chapter in my life. To cover tuition, I worked as a printer for the Western Hills Publishing Company. Our offices were on Davis Avenue in Cheviot and our printing presses occupied a floor in the historic Crosley Building on Arlington Street in Camp Washington. My duties as the junior member of the printing crew involved shuttling copy and page flats from the editorial offices to the typesetting and composing staff.

As I climbed out of the valley toward the English Woods housing development, hail scattered across the road. Hailstones rattled on the van’s roof, then pounded, then stomped. It sounded like some gremlin with a baseball bat hammering on the roof as ice balls the size of oranges smashed into the asphalt all around. Tree branches cracked and split and thatched the roadway.

Somehow, I made it to Cheviot and pulled into the Press parking lot. It was full of people, just standing around. I got out and looked at the van. The roof looked like a moonscape, there were so many dents in it.

“Hey! Look at this,” I shouted. No one turned or said a word. And then I saw why.

Stretching from the horizon halfway to zenith was the tornado. It was impossible to comprehend the scale. More than two miles away, we heard no sound except endless sirens calling to one another from every direction. Where we stood transfixed it did not rain. There was no wind. There was only the tornado.

“Look at all that paper swirling around,” someone said.

“Those are garage doors,” another answered.

We watched as the horrendous vision scraped its way northward, the finger of God plowing a furrow along South Road out in Mack. We watched as it withered and lifted and twisted into nothingness against a pallid sky, waving it seemed in farewell at last as it vanished. We stared at each other, silent, unable to find any words.

Gradually, we realized that all the lights were out. There was no power in the offices. The publisher sent me around the corner to a hardware store to buy all the candles they had in stock. It was going to be a long night.

At this point, for the benefit of readers younger than I, it is necessary to explain a few details. The cash register at the hardware store was mechanical. It did not require electricity, much less Wi-Fi, to operate. The editorial offices were stocked with manual typewriters. The telephones were landlines, on a separate network, and functioned even when the power was out. Everyone had a battery-powered radio.

Anyone with the ability to write a coherent sentence became a reporter. I was sent out, still wearing my printshop uniform, in the divotted Econoline, to gather eye-witness reports. I found a small crowd at the Western Hills Country Club who had been herded into a downstairs bar while the sirens howled. They queued up for every available telephone to check in with their families. I found people in shock, wandering through piles of rubble that had been their homes, clutching any random possessions they recovered. I saw ambulances backed up in a line, waiting for utility poles and power lines to be moved. I saw people wrapped in blankets, standing in the middle of nothing left, sobbing on each other’s shoulders.

There were people who swore they saw two funnel clouds and people who claimed there were four, twisting like snakes in the sky. There were people who confessed to being so transfixed by the surreal wonder of the twister that they stood paralyzed as it swooped down on their houses.

And, in the curious way the universe laughs at we mere humans, I found humor.

There was the guy who, in a dispute with his insurance company, was photographing damage to his roof when the warning sirens erupted. He saw the funnel approaching and dove into his basement. When he emerged, his roof was gone, and so was the rest of his house, but he bragged that he had the photos to press his prior claim.

I talked to one of the rescue workers who told me about a kid, maybe 15 or 16 years old, who approached him and begged him to hide a bottle of vodka. The kid didn’t want his mother to know he had the bottle hidden in his bedroom – the bedroom that was now nothing more than a debris field.

Meanwhile, at the University of Chicago, Dr. Theodore Fujita drafted a questionnaire to be sent to almost every newspaper, every radio station, every television station in the country. Dr. Fujita asked a lot of questions about the duration and intensity of the 148 confirmed tornadoes reported that day. He and Allen Pearson of the National Severe Storms Forecast Center hoped to refine the tornado classification system they had created just three years previously. Someone at the Press filled out the questionnaire and sent it back.

A year later, having graduated from the university and transferred to the newsroom, I found a largish cardboard tube lying amid the usual pile of news releases and complaint letters that constituted our daily mail. On opening the tube – it was addressed to no one in particular – I found a map of the eastern United States titled “Superoutbreak Tornadoes of April 3-4, 1974.” Dr. Fujita, compiling all those questionnaires, had mapped and labeled every one of those 148 tornadoes.

In the center of the map, there was my tornado, the only tornado I have seen with my own eyes, officially designated as an F5 monster.

[crooked-wasteland]

As much as I dread seeing Tumblr die, am I the only one who doesn't like jumping to another popular platform like Bluesky in panic? Don't get me wrong, it looks like a cool site and also has similar features as Tumblr. However, it hasn't been a year since it came out and Bluesky is already imploding. It feels like Twitter 2.0 to me!

As I've gotten older, I realize what I wanted was not only to use a very popular site but also where it's pretty accessible to me (no cancel culture or widespread censorship) — and I know this sounds cheesy — but also hopefully find friends and opportunities along the way. My overall experience online hasn't been super great and I can't help but feel less safe.

I may be too late for the party when I finally joined Tumblr but at least it's gotten a lot better compared back then. I'm also a bit skeptical of this "OH NO TUMBLR IS DYING" shtick because ain't no way a $3 million website is just gonna poof away instantly unless everybody stops using it. As someone said, it's just another case of a collective delirium.

I think maybe some respectable company/individual who actually cares about the site could buy it or Tumblr could try hosting official events IRL.

People were talking about Tumblr dying back in 2010. In 2018 with the adult content ban, the sight almost legitimately died and lost 30% of its user base. It hasn't at all seen that kind of mass abandonment as a site and I think it's easy to forget that perception is more noticeable than reality. The site says it is actively growing and recently hit a population milestone where 50% of the user base is Gen Z and those in charge insist that as much as 60% of new users are also Gen Z.

I'm not sure what has got you feeling like the site is dying, but Tumblr reminds me a lot of Ff.net or AO3. Neither site functions on an algorithm, so when your particular niche interests start losing favor with a community and people stop posting for it, you naturally see the decline in activity. But that doesn't inherently reflect the state of the site as a whole. From my understanding, it is chugging along just fine.

But also, Business insider is a joke of a news source. It's a recent article, however, and it has some brief interviews with people running the show. Despite Gen Z's puritanism, the only time any social media site has essentially died is when it bans sexual content. Looking at Fanfiction.net for that one. When Twitter and Tumblr also cracked down on sexual content, they saw their usage collapse and they eventually rolled back on trying to be advertiser friendly.

Tumblr has this "intention market" approach as opposed to the "attention market" of every other social media website, whatever that means. But Tumblr survived Ad-megeddon, so I don't think it'll actually be going anywhere soon. Even if marketing sounds like it's desperate. You're right, the only way it dies is if we stop using it.

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

The Eclipses Show

Pairing: None

Word Count: 1,579 Words

Summary: A good wake up and a bad feelings day for Phase. Crescent has a tantrum.

Warnings: Cursing, Past Death (mentioned), Grieving, Abuse, Trauma, Near-Death Experience (mentioned), Harassment, Minor Violence, let me know if I should add anything else.

Chapter 5: I’m Nothing Like You

Solar woke up with weight on his shoulder and chest like a body on top of his own. What the hell? He was sure it was probably Crescent bothering him again so he simply didn’t respond until-

“Dad…” Phase’s soft voice whispered against his shoulder and Solar opened his eyes as he suddenly remembered the previous day. Umbra was nowhere in sight and Phase was laying tucked up on top of him asleep still. Solar put a hand to Phase’s back and held him there. He did promise he’d stay by them and make sure they woke up.

“Good morning.” Umbra greeted him as he came back with three plates of food. Solar’s body had the function just like their new ones did to turn food into excess battery life but it had been so long since he used the function. It had also been a long time since he was greeted so nicely.

“Morning.” Solar groaned.

“Hold on.” Umbra took a fork full of pancakes and held it up under Phase’s nose. Phase’s nose twitched and then his lips before his eyes cracked open and he craned his head and bit the fork, half awake but obviously simply following the scent of food.

“Mowmim.” Phase greeted around the fork and piece of pancake as best he could.

“Time to stop crushing Solar, sleepyhead. He’s gotta eat too.” Umbra chuckled at Phase’s tired antics.

“Do I get coffee?” Phase asked.

“I got you one better. You get a Red Bull if you stop laying on Solar…for now.” Umbra showed Phase the cold 20oz can and waved it around a little like a prize. Phase almost instantly sat up off Solar and grabbed the Red Bull from Umbra.

“I love you!” Phase told Umbra.

“Love you too, brother.” Umbra patted Phase on the head as Phase framed the plate missing its fork, the fork Phase still had in his mouth. “And I got you iced coffee, Sol. Wasn’t sure how you like coffee so I just went with the maple pecan thing in the Faz-Pad.”

“Can’t go wrong with maple.” Solar smiled a little, sitting up and taking the coffee and plate Umbra offered him.

“I’m more of a peppermint person.” Umbra sat across from the two on Solar’s bed with his own plate and a cup of tea.

“You’re a tea person?” Solar asked, drinking some of his coffee.

“I’ll fall back asleep if I have coffee or energy drink so tea is my main source of caffeine.” Umbra told him.

“Rest in pieces.” Phase told him, stuffing a whole pancake into his mouth.

“‘Rest in pieces’.” Solar snorted at that.

“I pity him.” Phase said, mouth stuffed full of pancake.

“Please chew your food, Phase.” Umbra sighed.

“You’re not my mom!” Phase whined but did as he asked anyway, chewing and swallowing the pancake.

“We don’t have a mom.” Umbra rolled his eyes.

“Technically Sun would be your mom in a way and Corona would technically be mine?” Solar told them.

“Oh hell no. I’d rather not have one.” Phase complained.

“Yeah, no. I’ll be motherless, thanks.” Umbra rolled his eyes.

“Realistically, if we think about it, our respective Moon is our mom, our Kill Codes are our dads, and Sun and Corona were like surrogates.” Solar told them.

“That is…horrifying, thank you.” Umbra sighed.

“Yeah, no thanks. I’ll stick with just having a dad and no mom.” Phase told him but paused. “Had a dad.”

“Are you okay?” Solar asked, holding onto Phase’s hand.

“I miss him. And Bloody.” Phase looked down, eating a bit slower as he tried to mask the guilt and regret he felt.

“It’s okay to miss someone. I’m sure he misses you too.” Umbra told him, patting his shoulder.

“Thank you. It’s just a bad day, I think. I’ll be alright.” Phase gave them a little smile to reassure them.

“Well, when you’re ready to come out, if you want to, I’ll be in the daycare setting up. I have like ten check ins today and I feel like I’ll have more walk ins. You two can do whatever you want today as long as you behave.” Solar told him as he finished off his pancakes and took his plate and fork to the kitchen and stuck them into the dishwasher to be run after dinner tonight.

It was surprisingly easy in the daycare, eight of the ten kids were the well behaved ones with the two rowdy ones playing tag near the ball pit. It was simple to give the eight calm kids some drawing activities and just letting the the other two chase each other with his monitoring to make sure neither killed themself.

Umbra eventually ventured out and helped once the walk-ins began with Phase deciding to stay in their room for the day, too overwhelmed today to really get out of bed or do anything. Solar was sure eventually he’d come out of his grief of his family, they’d help him with getting comfortable with his new family.

Family. Solar already thought of them as family? As brothers? He smiled a little thinking about it. It was nice to actually consider someone his brother.

Phase looked up at the door opening, not turning around since he thought it was either Umbra or Solar telling him it was lunch time. He wasn’t up to getting out of bed. He wasn’t feeling the best today and Umbra had stayed with him for a while, assuring him that feeling like that was fine and that he could take his time adjusting to the new environment.

“Yeah?” Phase asked.

“Worthless extra parasite, get up!” Crescent growled. Phase sighed and turned around to look at Crescent with a bored expression.

“What, backup?” Phase asked.

“Why you little-!” Crescent snarled at the reminder that he was a backup of this universe’s original Moon. “So useless! Can’t even get up and do your job cleaning things during naptime!?” Crescent spat.

“I don’t have to do shit. Just because you’re a prick doesn’t mean you get to bully people into doing things you should be doing.” Phase told him but, realistically he felt a bit of fear pooling up. He could remember that it was Moon who had almost killed him not even two full days ago and Crescent looked like Moon enough that it was making his near death play back in his head.

Flare was gone, he had given himself up and allowed Phase to barely live. Flare had given his life because he had decided Phase deserved a real second chance to change. And he wasn’t going to let Flare’s sacrifice go to waste. But having the visage of your almost-murderer yelling at you was scary.

Crescent stepped more into the room and grabbed Phase by the rays, making him yelp at the pain in the head they created as he gripped them tight.

“You are a mistake! Nobody has ever wanted you just like the other two parasites. If you knew what was good for you, you’d keel over and die like your fucking brothers. Maybe then your daddy would care about you again.” Crescent hissed at him.

“Hey!” Umbra snapped in the doorway, grabbing Crescent’s hand holding Phase’s rays and gripped it tight enough to make Crescent release his grip after a sharp crackle, eyes glowing a crimson that tinged his purple eyes, his bits of the kill code showing through as he was pissed.

Umbra practically threw Crescent from their room onto his ass in the walkway. Phase couldn’t breathe, not that he needed to. He curled up in his bed as the words sank in and he hid his face into his arms, black oil leaking from his eyes as he tried to keep his tears silent.

“Don’t you fucking dare insult my brothers!” Umbra spat at Crescent, shaking with rage. Crescent glared at him as he got up before stalking off, pissed.

The crimson tinge disappeared from Umbra’s eyes as he turned to sit with Phase and pulled him up to hold him.

“It’s okay. Don’t believe him. He’s just an asshole. Never believe someone like him, Phasey. You aren’t a mistake, me and Solar want you. We love you.” Umbra assured him as Phase buried into his arms, hiding so he could cry against him.

“But Dad and Bloody. He said Dad would love me if I died like…” Phase hiccuped.

“Your Dad loved you, he wasn’t the best but he was trying as a new dad. You don’t have to die like your brothers for him to love you because he already did. He’s like us. We’re not the best as expressing ourselves. But he loved you, I know it.” Umbra promised him, rocking him a bit as Solar came to investigate the strange sounds during naptime, keeping track of the kids with his internals.

“What happened?” Solar asked.

“Your asshole tried to harass him and poked at some very raw nerves.” Umbra explained.

“It’s okay, Phase, everything will be okay. I promise. I’m sorry about him, he’s just a prick. Please don’t let his words hurt you too much. He’s just a bully, he likes to hurt people. I’m sorry he targeted you.” Solar sat with them, rubbing Phase’s back.

Before long, Phase was sleeping and holding Umbra hostage with his hands tangled into Umbra’s ruffles, unwilling to let go. Solar went back to the daycare, letting Umbra snuggle Phase while the youngest AI slept.