#its all just reaffirming shit

[networkunsupported]

appropos of nothing (locking eyes with the dash rn) but

1. queerbaiting may be defined purely as the hinting at same-sex relationships in media, but 'gay' and 'queer' are not necessarily interchangeable- if a relationship between two people of the same gender includes at least one queer person, then it is not queerbaiting. because there is no baiting- that is just being queer.

yes, this goes for if at least one person in that relationship is aromantic or asexual or demi or transgender or any of the above. they are queer. there is no baiting. even if there is no same-sex relationship. it's queer. end of.

2. queerbaiting takes time and effort and is deliberate on the part of the writer. a story about two men being friends is not in any way queerbaiting by its own, and neither is a story with the potential to be about a gay relationship, or the undercurrent of possibility of a gay relationship being involved. you are reading that into the text, and the text is not obliged to conform.

3. two men- two homosexual, gay men, can be in close situations together, form friendships, travel alongside one another, possess each other's bodies- whatever, and still not fall in love. there's nothing saying they have to do that.

4. honestly, if i was the writers of these stories, i'd almost be insulted. you're telling me the world of this universe, the vast, expansive world, with all its lore and its development and plot and characters and whatnot-- you're telling me the only reason you, as a reader, kept going with this piece of work is because you thought two men might kiss? maybe it's just my sensibilities talking, but... come on now.

you can see the way these characters influence each other and the world and the events of the story- and you can read what you will into it, but accept that's what it is- a reading. that's what you're supposed to do with stories like this- adapt it, take what you want from it. but don't blame the original text- or, god forbid, the author, for not exactly following your own version of events.

i'll shut my ass up about all of this now but like... cmon.

[batsinurbelfrey]

.

[3416]

Mitch Marner Media Availability | 11.03.23

[ferociouslycreativemystery]

Me: I'm fine about my autism now btw, like I've come to terms with my fixated interests, limited tolerances and social inabilities. The alienation it brings is not ideal but it's just a reality I've gotta deal with now that I know it's just a part of who I am. I mean, it's not like an awkward conversation is gonna ruin anyone's life, is it? We'll both move on from it eventually. This is fine!

Also me: physically unable to watch beyond the first word of the first question of The Assembly because oh my god what if someone says something awkward or controversial or someone can't make themselves understood people are gonna get mad and scream about it online and I will freeze up and be stuck in the backlash forever I don't know how to handle conflict AT ALL let's just hide in the corner behind the sofa instead wait what if I became a hermit actually yeah yeah yeah that sounds good let's do that

[perenlop]

i feel bad for any pmmm fan following me just now bc like i love literally everything ive read and watched so far except for magireco and thats what im watching rn

[verytendou]

Looks up wikihow for what to do when you realize your office has 5x the amount of budget of every other executive office combined

[blckbrrybasket]

Rafe with reader who stays away from hard drugs

People snorting cocaine at these parties always shocked you. It wasn’t so much that it was a hard drug, but more so the money that went into it. No drug was cheap that was for sure. Cocaine, though, was the drug for rich kids.

Being a pogue, you hadn’t tried it. You had no desire to. You saw what hard drugs did to your mom. Unlike coke, basically anyone with a spare room and a strong will could make meth out on the cut. At least your mom could. You didn’t mind seeing people do drugs, but you always held yourself back.

Rafe noticed it pretty easily. His first assumption was the price which is why he slyly told you one night that you could get a bump for free for being his. You still didn’t budge, politely declining and making an excuse. After some time Rafe dropped the subject becoming a bit more aware to your aversion to it.

Most people didn’t give a shit until Topper made a big deal about it.

“Yo..aren’t you gonna have any?” He sent you a inebriated smile and you resisted scrunching your nose up at him. “Nah, I’m good.” Rafe slid an arm around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Leave them alone Top, it’s good.” Topper rolled his eyes at Rafe’s automatically stern tone. “I was just asking, shit. If they want to be a pussy they can. Not my business.”

Topper shrugged with a smirk and turned back to the line in front of him. Your stomach dropped at the comment, Rafe’s eyes narrowing. “Yo, what the fuck?” “What, bro?” Topper shot back. The few seconds of their argument gave you enough time to leave Rafe’s lap and storm towards the door.

It was obvious that Rafe was following you. You acted like you couldn’t hear his voice calling after you in the crowd. His long legs made it easy for him to catch up to you though, hand sliding around your elbow to pull you towards him. “Babe.”

“It’s fine.” You started, already trying to cover up what happened. “No. No, it’s not. What’s going on? Talk to me.” Rafe was worried. His eyes were wide with unspoken fear that you’d be mad at him.

“It’s stupid.” You crossed your arms over your chest. Rafe shook his head, “Nothing bothering you is stupid. Please, talk to me.” Sighing, you dropped your arms and grabbed his hand to pull him outside.

He understood the need for privacy, but was surprised nonetheless. Finally after a minute the two of you stopped by the side of the yard, far enough away from prying eyes. At your groan Rafe’s eyebrows rose, unsure what to do.

You covered your face, sighing into your hands. “When you…” Your words were quiet and unsure before you started again. “When you do drugs, it’s fine. I mean…it isn’t for your body, but it’s fun. Every kook our age does drugs, but when my mom does it, it makes her a methhead.”

“The assumption isn’t wrong, but it’s different for us on the cut. The drugs our parents did ruined us.” Rafe’s eyes revealed his realization. You had never mentioned it, but he had never asked. He should have asked. He felt like such an asshole.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped. Your eyes snapped up to him. Rafe rarely apologizes without being told the problem, but now it wasn’t his fault. “For what? You didn’t do anything wrong.” “No, I did. I put you in that situation. I put you around drugs…fuck.”

The way you looked at the coke he did made sense now, like you had a personal vendetta against the powder. How many times had you been uncomfortable while he dealed with you on his lap? “I’m sorry.” He reaffirmed, hands cupping your face. “I don’t care what bullshit you say, I put you in that..and I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” was all you could think to whisper back to him. “It’s okay.” This time it was firmer, Rafe’s earlier expression of ease slowly making its way back onto his face. “Now let’s get out of here.”

“What?” You laughed in disbelief. Rafe shrugged, arms scooping you up to swing you over his shoulder, “Parties’ boring anyways.” You laughed, clutching onto his shoulders. “By the way, don’t hurt Topper too much.”

Rafe chuckled knowing you knew him too well. “Don’t know what you mean,” he lied.

[prettyboykatsuki]

✮  tags ; top + gn!reader (no desc of parts but reader is fucking him), unabashed daddy kink, implied verse, small age gap, bottom megumi, petnames (boy, baby) thorough discussion of megumis daddy issues in exactly the direction you think, 18+

✮ wc ; 1.3k

✮  a/n ; i haven't slept . im not responsible for anything. will not be taking questions at this time. 🫡

He's the prettiest thing you've ever seen in your life.

You tell him as much. He pretends to hate hearing it. Soft features bend at hard angles to convincingly drive in the fact that he detests it. Megumi is always like that. For the years you've known him - anything he's at risk of playing his hand too quickly, he retracts. You think that's why you're so addicted to getting him to let go.

He scowls, has the signature Zenin mean mug that almost makes the whole schtick convincing. You know better though. Maybe because you've known him since highschool, or maybe because you simply find him easy to read.

You've never met someone so touchstarved or so delicate all while being so, so mean. There's a lot Megumi can do but he's shit at hiding when something bothers him. When he's irritated, he's petulant and when he's pleased - you'd almost describe him as docile. In his own way. In the way a dog who used to cage fight could be.

You have an interesting relationship to Megumi. You're a stray just like him - with your family being a Zenin lapdog and you being their black sheep. You have a lot to relate on, but Megumi finds your attitude grating. Finds the harshness of your personality difficult, and finds the finesse you have for slaughter and violence to be nauseating.

It's probably why he makes wide, wet eyes at you whenever you're alone. Closest thing he has to someone he can depend on with more experience. You're quick to appraise his work when you go on trips together. Despite your acting smug and Megumis frustration about your attitude, he soaks up the praise like a pretty little sponge. He's only a few years younger than you though, despite how he acts.

(Sometimes you think he wants the gap to be a little wider. )

A cute kid, only two years younger than you. Soft, striking green eyes. Soft lips. A mean little glare and spiky mop of black hair to compliment pale, cream colored skin. Megumi blushes easy, bruises even easier. His knees and elbows are a pretty cherry-blossom pink like something out of a movie scene.

The first time you fuck Megumi, its mostly because you're drunk and interested. It'd be stupid to not be interested in a face so pretty and desperate for approval.

All times after that are false happenstance. You make a routine of it - a silent game that makes it look like you're coercing him so he doesn't have to accept his own wants with any seriousness. You're cool with the ambiguity cause you're a little sick in the head. It's enough to fuck him, and sometimes when you're generous - to have him fuck you.

Megumi is pretty when he's being fucked. He changes his tune fast when his dick is a little hard and his guard is down - never thought that bratty little fucker could whine like he's in heat until you pulled the sounds out of his mouth yourself.

You always reaffirm how much he loves attention and praise and pampering when you fuck Megumi. He likes when you appraise him like that too. Soft compliments about his pretty little hole and the tightness of his waist. You manage it with relative ease. Makes your whole core throb just to see how much he twitches over something so slight and so easy. Such a mean fucking kid - such a brat, all welled up anger and abandonment issue.

Sometimes you wanna make him cry from him pain.

But most times, like now - you offer Megumi sweet pleasure. Give him that gentle, doting authority that he seems to fiend for. Desperate for reprieve in a way that stains his face, despite his attempts to brush it off.

Megumi takes dick like he was born for it. Slender fingers grip at your waist and claw at your back like he wants to rip you in half - tear you limb from limb but his legs wrap around your waist like he'd die if you left him for one fucking second. Megumi likes being full, you think. And he likes more when you praise him for taking your cock with such ease.

It's not rocket science to figure out he has some issues with authority. That distant relationship with his sensei and absent father make it obvious that he never wants to let anyone get too close. He could never really entertain certain relationships, he could never actually ask for approval. It's too little, too late.

Still, it surprises you a little when you first hear him say daddy. Not a lot, but enough that you pause in mid-thrust to stare at him a bit. He's mortified at the realization.

But you're not much less of a scumbag you figure, than all the figures in his life. You nod instead, feel arousal spark up in your stomach and claw it's way into your throat as you fuck him even harder.

("Daddy, huh?" You laugh because it's funny and you think the feeling of being so turned on you pass out is inappropriate. "Sure, baby. I'll be your daddy if you want." )

He doesn't say shit to you about it afterwards. Can barely look you in the during your post-sex aftercare and chat - though that conversation is never particularly romantic. You think the whole thing makes him want to die, so you don't really bring it up outside of a knowing look.

But it happens more often than that. Like a dam breaking, something slips and now Megumi can't close it despite how desperately he seems to want too. It's not even that you're particularly into it at the start.

But well, he's pretty. Prettiest little thing you've ever seen in your life, even though he's tall and strong. He's got this grace that overwhelms you into fucking him dumb whenever you can. Try as you might, you will is not strong enough to not lust over someone like him calling you daddy. That level of unprecedented whining, the affection, the need in such an embarrassing word makes your feel so horny you can barely think.

So, it doesn't particularly surprise you when Megumi calls you daddy. Not anymore.

He's weepy in the face, somewhere in the distance - and he's still wearing his pajamas when you come see him. The scene is uncomfortably domestic between two people who aren't dating, but you don't really care either way. Megumi is pretty everywhere, but he's especially needy getting fucked on his kitchen counter sitting up to cling to you.

His arms around your shoulders, face drawn together with shameless embrassed. His cock is twitchy, leaking against the flat plane of his stomach with unbridled enthusiasm. He says it in a whisper today which you can't help but find cute.

It's raw in the back of his throat, mildly gravelly as his nails dig into your shoulders with an enthusiastic whine. "Daddy. Fuck, please, can't."

"What's daddy's boy want huh?" You say, obviously mocking - a hand wrapped around shaft with a thumb over his slit. Megumi shivers. Lets out a shameful moan at the word boy that makes you laugh hard, makes your head spin dizzy with lust.

"Wanna cum," He says, but doesn't beg. Doesn't know how and couldn't figure it out if you paid him. You've spoiled him rotten after all. Filthy, really but he's prettier when he's acting precious. At least to you. "Make me cum, daddy please."

"Really milking it today, huh boy?" You chuckle and all he does is whimper. "Okay, okay. So fucking needy. Go on and cum, baby. Cum for daddy."

Megumi lets out a whine. A sound you barely knew he had in him as you say it that time and you laugh again and again as you bottom out. You watch him squirm as he finally finishes, back arching off the counter as the pleasure runs through him.

His face is still hazy when he comes down. Still beautiful in that way that makes you want to fuck him stupid and indulge for the rest of your life.

"Feel good, baby?"

He blushes faint and doesn't bother pushing you away. "Mm."

[pretzel-box]

Hihi! Would you be okay with doing a monster-masquerading-as-a-human read, who is a former researcher and like, is a little shit at first but grows attached to Sebastian? And for the scenerio can it be like reader reaffirming Sebby of his humanity, but really awkwardly cs they struggle with human emotions.

Sorry if this is too specific I think ALOT about Seb (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

Tags: GN!reader, reader is an experiment but hides as human, sassy reader

Words: 1k

Sebastian had always been suspicious of you, from the moment you wandered into his shop with that too-easy smile and gleaming eyes that seemed to be hiding more than they let on. You were a former researcher, you had claimed, but something about you always felt off. It wasn't just the way you walked, too sure of yourself for someone in this hellish place, or how you seemed to know a little too much about the twisted layout of the Blackside and the lurking dangers within. It was the way you seemed to enjoy it all—thrived in it, even.

But despite his initial suspicions, Sebastian tolerated you. Maybe it was the way you could effortlessly talk your way out of trouble with some of the nastier entities, or how you seemed to know exactly where to find valuable items amidst the chaos. Whatever the reason, you’d become a fixture in his shop, hovering around and occasionally offering unsolicited advice.

For a while, it was a practical alliance. Sebastian didn’t trust you—he wasn’t stupid—but you were useful, and he was willing to play nice if it meant staying alive. You were, in all ways, a little shit. Always poking fun at him, always with a teasing remark on the tip of your tongue. But recently, something had shifted. You were around more often, lingering a little longer, your jabs softening into something that almost resembled… friendliness.

It was unnerving.

One evening, after a particularly rough encounter with one of the more violent entities, Sebastian was nursing a cut on his arm, a deep gash that stung worse than usual. He was sitting on a stool behind the table, his tail swishing in agitation as he tried to wrap a bandage around it. You leaned against the table, watching him struggle with a faint smirk on your lips.

“Need a hand, friend?” you offered, your tone mockingly sweet.

Sebastian shot you a glare. “Got enough hands, thanks,” he muttered, holding up his three arms pointedly.

You chuckled, not moving from your spot. “Doesn’t look like it from here.”

He rolled his eyes, huffing in frustration as the bandage slipped from his grasp again. “Fine,” he grumbled, finally conceding. “If you’re gonna be a pain, at least be a useful one.”

You grinned, stepping around the table to help him. Your touch was surprisingly gentle as you took the bandage from him, wrapping it around his arm with practiced ease. “You know, you’re not half-bad when you’re not being a grump,” you teased lightly.

Sebastian snorted, but there was no real heat behind it. “Yeah, well, you’re not half-bad when you’re not being a little shit,” he shot back, though his voice lacked its usual bite.

You worked in silence for a moment, the air between you oddly comfortable. As you finished tying off the bandage, you hesitated, your gaze lingering on the cut. “Why do you bother?” you asked suddenly, your voice quieter, more serious.

Sebastian frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Why do you bother trying to stay… human?” you clarified, your tone awkward as if you were unsure of your own words. “I mean, look at this place. Look at us. What’s the point?”

Sebastian was taken aback. You’d never asked anything like that before, never shown even the slightest hint of introspection. He studied your face, searching for the usual hint of a smirk or teasing glint in your eyes, but found none. You looked… confused. Almost vulnerable.

“I… I don’t know,” he admitted after a moment. “Maybe it’s just all I have left. My humanity. It’s… it’s who I am.”

You nodded slowly, as if digesting his words. “It’s… important, isn’t it? Being who you are.”

Sebastian nodded. “Yeah. It is.”

You were quiet for a long moment, and Sebastian could almost see the gears turning in your head, trying to process something that didn’t quite compute. “I think you’re doing okay,” you said finally, your voice awkward and halting. “With the whole… human thing.”

Sebastian blinked, surprised. “That… means a lot, coming from you,” he said slowly.

You shrugged, looking away. “Don’t get all mushy on me now,” you muttered, but there was a faint smile on your lips, and for a moment, Sebastian thought he saw something almost… soft in your eyes.

Sebastian chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said lightly. “But… thanks. Really.”

You nodded, still not looking at him. “Yeah, well… don’t make me regret saying it.”

Sebastian smiled, feeling a strange warmth in his chest that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe you were still a little shit, but there was something… different about you now. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but something he found himself oddly grateful for.

Maybe, just maybe, you weren’t so bad after all.

“You know, we are quite similar.” You nudged him gently with your arm, grinning at him with your signature smile. There was a spark of confusion in his eyes, trying to understand what exactly you refer to. But you simply stood up from your seat, wiping the imaginary dust of your palms and walking to the vent.

“It's not like I am fully human either, but Sebastian— we are still ourselfs. Nothing has changed but our appearance. Don't let the Blackside fool you.”

He was awfully touched by your words, feeling a bit reasurred, before his head shot up, realizing your reference.

“YOU'RE NOT HUMAN—?!”

But you were already gone.

You could hear him shout from the other side of the vent, the rushed movements and the noise of surprise and you couldn't help but giggle about his reaction.

Sebastian was truly amusing and you secretly hoped he valued your words, realizing he isn't alone with it all, knowing there is someone who will take some of his pain. After all, you took a liking to the usual moody shopkeeper and it would be a shame if he stops being the grumpy sunshine that he normally is.

[robot-roadtrip-rants]

I posted an analysis of a section from Dark Imperium on Reddit that I'm quite proud of, so I'm reposting it here:

‘Some of the worlds dispute the proof. They are more than glad to welcome our warriors, but the Imperial governors in two dozen systems quibble over reaffirming their oaths of loyalty. In one case, we have had an outbreak of intra-system civil war over the issue, where one lord has declared for you and three against. Some lie outright, telling us they were never part of Ultramar. Perhaps some of them sincerely believe it. A few are braver and insist the ancient treaties cannot be revoked, even by you, my lord, and are determined to retain their independence.’ ‘They are wrong,’ said Guilliman. […] 'They are… disquieted by the fate of some of their peers.’ ‘Only those who rule poorly have anything to fear,’ said Guilliman. ‘It is, naturally, the more autocratic rulers who oppose your rescinding of their independence.’ ‘Then they only delay the inevitable,’ said Guilliman. ‘They will fall into line and ask politely for mercy, or they will be executed.’ […] ‘I should never have set the Five Hundred free,’ he said. ‘My lord?’ said Ventris. ‘I should not have done it,’ repeated Guilliman. ‘I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was following the Emperor’s wishes, letting men rule the affairs of men.’

A lot of people look at this passage and think they’re seeing Guilliman clean up corruption in the 500 Worlds. I’m sure he will, but that’s not what’s happening here. This is an autocrat ruthlessly crushing resistance.

Why are these worlds resisting? Ventris claims that “naturally” the more autocratic rulers are the most resistant. Perhaps that’s true, but we also have to take into account that he is an Ultramarine talking to his genesire; he will be heavily biased in thought and word against Guilliman’s enemies. Look closer at how he describes the resisters. They invoke ancient treaties to justify their independence. They’re afraid of what will happen if they surrender. Using that information, let’s flip the chessboard and try to imagine what these demands feel like from their perspective:

You’re a human ruler. For the past ten thousand years, your planet has existed free of transhuman rule. You might even have the original treaty that granted your planet’s independence. You almost certainly regard yourself as an obedient subject of the Imperium.

All of a sudden, one of the legendary demigods of yore shows up on your doorstep and demands you to bend the knee. He doesn’t care about your treaties (which he probably signed!) or historic independence or anything. Ugly things happen to people who go against him. Oh sure, he claims that you’ll be fine, so long as you haven’t done anything wrong, but do you really believe that? You’re a ruler in the fucking Imperium. You know just how potential claimants are handled; you know how often misdeeds get dug out of the closets of inconvenient politicians. Shit, you've probably done that yourself to your political rivals. Do you really think that you’ll be okay? And if you actually care about your planet, can you really trust him to give a damn about the lives of your people? Transhumans do tend to be aloof creatures convinced in their own superiority…

Guilliman doesn’t consider any of these possibilities, not even for the purposes of negotiation. Guilliman doesn’t care. He’s right, you’re wrong, and therefore he’s justified in doing whatever it takes to make you comply. This is 40k. “Whatever it takes” includes cyclonic torpedoes.

The most damning part IMO are Guilliman’s words at the end. He didn’t grant these worlds their liberty because he trusted humans to look after themselves. He granted them liberty in obedience to Dad. Humans’ thoughts, beliefs, and opinions never entered the equation. And now, coming back to the Imperium at its lowest point, he concludes that it was a mistake to give humans the benefit of the doubt.

The Imperium lasted ten thousand years under human rule. It survived the Great Beast, twelve Black Crusades, the Nova Terra civil war, the False Primarch, the Age of Apostasy, three Tyranid Wars, and Throne knows what else—not just survived, but even thrived in many cases. Under transhuman rule, the Imperium lasted six fucking years before it exploded into civil war that nearly destroyed the whole empire and even the galaxy itself. But it was a mistake to let humans rule themselves. Riiiiiiiiight.

[ivymarquis]

Say You Won’t Let Go

Shower Shenanigans

Pairing| John Price x F!Single Mom!Reader Rating| E Word Count| 2.7k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Zombie!AU, sexual tension, masturbation

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

It’s still dark out. You feel heavy, limbs weighted down in a way that has nothing to do with your pregnancy and everything to do with the furnace beside you in bed and the heady sensation of comfort rolling over you in waves.

The cold nipping at you has been such a constant you barely notice it until now with its distinct absence.

You’ve never been one to fret over waking in the middle of the night. You know at some point you’ll fall back asleep so blessedly avoid the oh god why can’t I sleep why am I awake cycle that inevitably keeps people up at night.

Despite being separate when you drifted off to sleep, at some point in the night the chill of incoming winter chased the pair of you together under the covers.

You’re on your left side, John behind you with his arm draped across your belly and something at your lower back.

Hello.

Turns out his overall stature and general demeanor isn’t the only thing about him that’s imposing.

There’s a flicker of interest, a small flame that you try to tamper down immediately out of shame and embarrassment.

You’re pregnant, for God’s sake and he’s asleep. Nothing about this is intentional on his end.

You’re just a hormonal cocktail going through dick withdrawals. He’s not interested. This is the kind of bullshit that got you pregnant in the first place.

David- the man who got you into this mess because you most assuredly did not impregnate yourself- had rapidly lost interest once you started to show, and you’ve been focusing on the whole not dying thing so your libido has taken a backseat for the last while.

Hard to worry about rubbing one out with death looming overhead at every turn.

But now?

You’re safe and fed and warm and tucked up against a man who absolutely would turn your head in another life.

You’re being fucking delusional. He’s doing the right thing- the kind thing by trying to take you back with him. Nothing more. Soldiers are supposed to protect civilians, that’s their whole job (you also may or may not be delusional about the moral soundness of someone paid to follow orders and kill on command, but hey, you’re not exactly spoiled for choice here).

He’s just doing his job.

If you were alone in your own bed, perhaps you’d give into the urge to run your fingers across your thigh and reach between your legs- with some effort and wriggling.

Then again, if you were in your own bed you wouldn’t have John’s morning wood pressing against your lower back, so it’s entirely plausible your libido wouldn’t have been reignited.

You try to shift a bit towards the edge of the bed- give yourself some breathing room so you can clear your head and stop being silly.

It doesn’t go well at all.

John seems to be a clingy sleeper. The moment you gain any real space between you his reaction is immediate. The arm draped across your belly locks against you immediately, his other arm looping under and around your neck loosely to pull you back against him.

Surely he must be awake- there’s no way he can react this strongly in his sleep.

He gives absolutely no indication. There’s a short, irate huff as his nose presses against the nape of your neck and reaffirms his hold on you, and then he’s back to snoring lightly in your ear. And little John is right back to pressing against the small of your back.

Well shit. So much for that plan.

You have little option other than to deal with it (or wake him up- you don’t exactly want to go down that particular rabbit hole, however), squirming with the realization that you are wet and trapped and unable to do anything about either.

Despite being clung to and held hostage, you manage to do the only thing that you can in this situation and fall back asleep.

When you wake up John is gone.

It is still warm under the blankets but you have very limited patience to see if he just slipped away for a moment and is coming back soon- Especially with your kid sitting on your bladder.

You can hear him moving around downstairs, so it appears that this part of your routine will not be changing. He leaves you to sort yourself out in the morning in your own time, and waits to bring you down the stairs after you've finished in the bathroom.

Before things went to shit, you were a big fan of hot showers. Nowadays you’re just grateful to have access to running water and you don’t mind the cold near as much as you thought you would. But gone are the days of lingering under the spray and enjoying the heat while you dissociate about work. Now showers are what they always were supposed to be- a measure to get yourself clean. Get in, get done, get out.

You really must be a hormonal cocktail going through withdrawals, however, based on the mess between your legs as you clean yourself up.

Maybe if you just handle it yourself you’ll calm down and stop feeling like a cat in heat.

As your hand moves between your legs, you try to keep an ear out for John.

That somehow he’ll just know that you’re doing something you shouldn’t be, and come to investigate it.

You’re grateful for the water muffling you- the way your breath hitches before a shaky exhale as soon as you touch yourself. Provides some sort of insulation incase John comes to check on you, although you don’t plan on being particularly loud.

It’s been so long since anyone has touched you, including yourself.

There’s a fair bit of maneuvering on your end, trying to find the pose that will best let you get between your legs while standing under the cold spray.

You get it figured out, need and practice having you working yourself up in no time at all.

Back before things went tits up, you had the comfort of your bedroom, a variety of toys, and whatever erotica or porn suited your fancy at the time.

Now, you don’t have more than your imagination but find it to be perfectly up for the task.

At first you’re not thinking much about anything- just enjoying the sensations as you circle your clit. Your other hand reaches to grasp and tease one of your nipples.

Despite the cold water your body is flush and warm between your legs. All the bloodflow heading south.

You can feel the coil tightening in your belly as you work yourself up.

It’s like you hit a plateau though, or a proverbial wall. The pleasure doesn’t fizzle out or taper off but it just won’t quite go where you want it to. Just the physical stimulation isn’t enough to get you off.

You’re numb to the cold, mind wandering as you mentally tab through recollections of your prior go-to fodder, or previous encounters with partners who’d known what they were doing and had done their jobs properly.

That helps, but still isn’t quite enough.

Christ, this is taking too long now. John knows how long you shower for. He’s going to notice if you don’t hurry up.

The thought of John catching you sends a jolt of electricity straight to your pussy.

You absolutely do not want him walking in on you. But the thought of his voice purring low in your ear as he praises you, big hands roaming the expanse of your body as he guides you exactly how he wants you- gruff and taciturn with his orders-

That does the trick, grabbing you by the back of the neck and hurdling you across the finish line.

And God help you, you’re not sure if it’s simply because of how long it had been since you last had any sexual gratification, or if the captain really just has that much of your attention- but the orgasm that rips through you is enough to make your knees buckle.

You’re no stranger to handling your own pleasure but it’s not often you literally make your own legs shake.

You are struck rather quickly with the realization that if you do not sit down, you are going to fall down.

It’s far from graceful, but you manage to land as gently as you can, given the situation.

You’re dazed, completely unrelated to the fall. Good God you’ve been in dire need of relief to have this strong of a reaction to getting yourself off.

Reality comes knocking at the door amid your post masturbatory bliss. The cotton pulls away from between your ears, and the cold settles on you about the same time.

If you don’t hurry up and get yourself dried and dressed, there’s no way John isn’t going to come looking for you.

You reach forward and fiddle with the taps to turn off the water. What you can’t quite do is bring yourself to stand just yet.

You’ll sit for a second and then try to get up. The cold biting at you proves to be an excellent motivator to try soon, as well as the porcelain of the tub. It’s not exactly comfortable so you have no intention of staying here all day.

Just as you take a breath to psych yourself to get your legs back underneath you, the sound of John’s knuckles rapping against the door breaks the silence.

“You plan on coming out sometime today, Love?”

“I’ll be out in a minute!” You hope your voice doesn’t sound too pitched like a child who definitely just got caught with your hand in the cookie jar.

“In your own time, then,” he huffs from the other side of the door and you can just see the pinched expression on his face through the wood. Thankfully though you hear the floorboards creaking as he steps away from the bathroom.

Pleased with yourself that you’ve successfully managed to deter him, you decide now you’re ready to tackle the hurdle of getting back up.

A very pregnant woman on her ass and a wet bathroom does not make for a very good situation, unfortunately.

You’re not very far out of a sitting position when one of your feet slips. It’s a stretch to call it a fall, really. You’re fine.

But when your foot slips, on reflex you move your arm to catch yourself and bang your elbow. The immediate tingling and accompanying unpleasantness is just the old it’s not very funny when you hit your funny bone, but you can’t stifle the reflexive “God fucking damnit” from escaping you unprompted.

There’s no telling which of those was the first to catch his attention, but you hear the floorboards protest his return to the door. “What was that?”

Ah, shit.

“Nothing!” You know your tone isn’t very convincing now, stress pitching it up an octave.

There’s a silence that stretches just long enough that you think maybe- just maybe- that John is going to leave you be.

That thought is dashed immediately when he simply states, “I don’t believe you. I’m coming in.”

“John, no!” You immediately protest. “I’m-” the door opens, his focus on the air space your head would be occupying if you weren’t currently on your ass. “-fine,” you finish lamely as his gaze drops to yours.

The look of are you fucking kidding me is scrawling across his face so plainly it might as well be written in sharpie.

“What the hell happened?” He demands, taking the two strides required to get to you.

“I’m fine!” You protest again (from the ground). “I got dizzy and sat down so I wouldn’t fall.” Not entirely untrue, and mollifies John enough that now his expression is just one of being disgruntled.

While he’s probably just deciding what to do with you, you’re keenly aware of the fact that you are wet and naked and on the floor with him towering over you. It doesn’t do you any good in the slightest but try to draw your limbs up in an attempt for some form of modesty.

“Right,” he seems to have come to a conclusion for how he wants to proceed, “let’s get you back on your feet and dried off before you catch your death.”

Only way out is through, you suppose.

You really, really, really wish he would just turn around and leave so you can salvage your dignity in solitude, but you can also just tell that that isn��t going to be an option. He’s not going to leave you until he’s satisfied you haven’t busted your ass too severely (you didn’t, but you also know it’s a lost cause to try to convince him).

He really does have quite the imposing figure, even as he kneels down to your level to better get a hold of you.

You almost ask for a towel- something for some sort of modesty, some sort of barrier between your wet, naked, vulnerable body and the very man you were thinking about that got you in this scenario to begin with.

Pragmatically you realize it’s not a great idea. It won’t wrap fully around you to cover everything anyway, and your attention should be on getting back on your feet and not worrying about what the towel is doing. It will probably just fall in the impending shuffle anyway.

His hands are gentle with you, despite the various scars suggesting that he is often not a gentle man. Firm enough to get hold of you and make sure you don’t slip away from him without being overbearing.

Much like last night, you can’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes right now. Which is fine, because you can bury your face in the crook of his neck and look past his shoulder like this, avoiding his gaze entirely.

Your arms are around his neck as he positions you how he likes, readjusting his hold on you.

“Feel like you’ve got your legs under you?” He asks, and you huff. “I told you, I’m fine.”

“So she claims despite being on her arse in the bath,” John huffs right back at you before starting to count.

Context clues tell you that “One, two, three,” is your cue to make a go of it.

John’s grip lingers for a moment- “You don’t feel dizzy do you?”- assessing how you feel now that you’re standing. You can’t, in all fairness, begrudge him that as that’s your story for how you ended up on the ground anyway.

“No,” you feel like a broken record insisting you’re fine and decide against continuing to protest against his involvement. “Can I have my towel, please?”

As he releases you to do as you ask, the instability you feel isn’t so much a physical one as one that’s much less tangible.

You’re quick to take the towel from him when he hands it over, eager to have something between you. You feel somewhat less exposed this way, even though it’s not really doing you any good.

It’s like something out of your silly little paperback bodice rippers when he tilts your chin up to look at him. You’re still avoiding eye contact which is likely what prompts him to do this.

The movement gets him the desired result as you instinctively follow his cue to look at him, clinging to the towel like a lifeline.

He’s assessing you, you realize. Sorting out for himself if he believes that you’re actually fine despite your numerous protests.

At a certain point he’s clearly decided that he’ll accept that you’re unharmed.

He clears his throat, satisfied momentarily but still seemingly content with being overbearing.

“I promise I’m fine. I need to get dressed,” its an assurance and a request wrapped together- please leave. You just want to dry off and get your clothes on, and forget that this happened.

The end of the world hasn’t totally knocked away your sense of modesty, and given your recent revelations of how your emotions are just one hormone cocktail regarding John, you can’t quite decide how you feel at the moment.

The caveman grunts, giving you a final once over before turning and leaving, the door clicking shut behind him.

You’re alone now, which is what you want, and naked and cold.

[payasita]

Good job getting ADHD medication! I’m so proud of you :D

thanks so so much im very happy and so hopeful for the first time maybe ever but also it TOOK ME LIKE. A YEAR. A YEAR.

like yall for real?? for real. for real i have been diagnosed since i was like six. (funny story my teacher thought i was on the spectrum so my parents get me tested with the nodes and shit and according to mom, who loves this story, my neurologist did all that and talked to me and then just turned to my mom and went "she's not autistic. she just hates the other kids" but they DID find an adhd diagnosis in there so net win for all of us)

diagnosed since i was SIX. on stimulants until i turned 8, and you know why i got off em? my pediatrician retired. we could not find another who would take our low-income insurance. so i just had to rawdog The Rest Of My Fucking Life. diagnosed when i was six. legally neurodivergent for 20 slutty slutty angry years.

and it still took me like. a few months to get a psych appointment. a few weeks to reaffirm my diagnosis as an adult. a few more weeks for another appointment for meds. he doesnt Want to do meds first, because i must have been doing fine without them if its been two decades, right? i got a job and a car and everything. well gee fuckin shittickers Dr. Brain Guy, just WHAT was my alternative? would you prefer i be maladapted to the point of incapacitation; is that what it takes for someone to be considered? i cheated my way through school. every day after work i sit for an hour in my car because i dont have the executive function to stand up and walk the ten steps to my house. garbage just appears around me. i have three empty bags of hot chip and two cans of sprite on my desk as we speak, neither from today. at that point i hadnt had a debit card for six months because that would have required me to Drive To The Bank, a location that was new to me in this area, so i just did everything on credit. is this all normal? is this fine? am i GOOD, actually, Dr. WeirdBrain?

so we cordially agree that yes i should probably be medicated. i want to do a stimulant. he does not want to put me on a stimulant. "stimulants can mess with your heart," he says, "and you're young, you don't want heart problems." i say ok because i dont want to make him think im just looking for narcotics. even though i am. because they WORK. i agree to try some kind of antidepressant.

the antidepressant gives me tachycardia. i go to the emergency room after reading a heartbeat of, oh, 140 bpm, which is about like double what it normally is and juuuust below the You Are Having A Heart Attack threshold. i get to the ER and the doctor there is very obviously convinced i'm a local addict having some sort of episode. it is the most ironic experience i've had all year and i feel an abrupt and all consuming kinship with those birds in australia that will swoop you and peck at your face for seemingly no good reason.

so yeah, we narrow it down to the antidepressant. as it turns out, these particular meds are known to, semi-commonly, Mess With Your Heart. i have my next appointment with my psych and somehow refrain from pecking his eyes out. he puts me on a noreprinephrine inhibitor(iirc) that isnt actually FDA approved to treat ADHD specifically(i DEFINITELY rc) but it IS given to smokers to help them quit. i dont smoke. i may very well fucking start before this whole ordeal is at the point where someone listens to me

it obviously does a combined total of jack and shit, and the man waffles with this one because he has "had success" using it as treatment for other ADHD patients. he ups the dose. twice. three months on the smoker meds, which are also apparently notorious for destroying your appetite, but they didnt even do THAT. no change to the average amount of hot chip on my desk.

he wants to try quelbree after that. i finally tell him i'm tired of this shit and would like to have more than two hours of usable daylight to function before it all falls to uncontrollable youtube shorts binges and a daily experience i like to call The Weighted Nothings and i would very much like to PLEASE. TRY A STIMULANT.

he's been friendly enough with me over these past four or five or whatever months but at this he gets suddenly very very business-baseline. gives me the whole spiel about the north american shortage. gives me a spiel about how i absolutely cannot, under any circumstances, lose or sell this medication, because they will not refill it if i do. i am sitting here wondering if he he's telling the truth about having other ADHD patients at all like ever in his career, and also, am i nuts or should the "don't sell your prescription drugs" bit apply to EVERYTHING? i dont fuckin know man i just live here

he says he wants a urine test first. its scheduled for two weeks out. i take it.

"hey uh, your piss came back with cannabis in it" "well it'd be weirder if it didn't, we are in california and i am a kitchen manager" "you can't have weed if you want adderall" "fine i'll stop" "we'll schedule you another test in a month" "aight bet" it didnt go exactly like that but this is kind of what the vibe between us has devolved into by this point.

anyway i wait a month and get a good grade in piss. i get the meds prescribed. i go to fill out the prescription

all i really need to say to you are the words "prior authorization error" for most of you to get what happened next.

the psych isnt even aware. i wait another month for our next meeting, which was yesterday. i do not yell at him. he tells me to take it up with the pharmacy, and yell at them. i am going to yell at them.

so i go, and guess what, it actually went through a while ago! NO ONE TOLD ME OR DR. FEEL-BAD OVER HERE. but we can't fill it right now because its a controlled substance so come back in a few hours. hey it's ready where the hell are you? TAKE YOUR METH AND GET OUT

anyway i started it today, reorganized my pantry, and fixed the fire alarm in my hallway that's been chirping at me for a week. i no longer have to wear earplugs to bed.

and with my newfound executive function superpowers, i will be spraying my weed-free piss all over Reagan's grave.

[randomshyperson]

Enchanted - Wanda Maximoff Oneshots

Summary: The new Avengers welcome party takes an unexpected turn. Wanda is delighted and tries to make a friend. | Based on “Enchanted” by Taylor Swift.

Warnings: mutual pining, really fluffy, emo wanda being a shy mess with a crush, they are both teenagers in this btw, hints of social anxiety. | Words: 4.913k

A/N-> Yes, I’m writing about worthy!Reader again, sue me. It has a certain resemblance to an abandoned one that I posted here a while ago, but this time they are strangers to friends. This is also totally influenced by the new version of this song.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad | Song-Based Collection

-&-

The party setting was not one that Wanda would choose as a favorite, and frankly, she had little desire to be there.

But Steve and Natasha insisted she joins, after all, there were reasons to celebrate besides the almost obligatory socializing and marketing for Earth's most famous team of heroes; their latest villain, Ultron, had been successfully exterminated. And in addition to the conflicts, there were new members on the team. Given the circumstances, and the recent destruction of her home country, neither reason would be enough to get her out of her room, but it was Natasha who convinced her to celebrate what truly mattered: Pietro was alive.  

Somehow, the twin managed to make the broken leg an extra charm to his character, and the crouched figure dressed in an expensive suit courtesy of Stark Industries - an image that would make the teenage version of Pietro Maximoff have a fit of outrage - turned into the soul of the party. Unlike her brother who seemed overjoyed by the spotlight, Wanda hurried to find a corner as soon as she entered the tower hall packed with guests, her heart racing for every glance and flash of photographers interested in the newest Avengers.

The evening wore on with polite celebrations and a battle of egos conversations; it all seemed very political to Wanda, but not in the same way as it had on her rebellious afternoons in Sokovia, with all the ink and posters and protests, and more about fake smiles and passive-aggressive accusations, people in suits reminding themselves of the cost of the Avengers' existence, and an almost drunken Tony Stark bragging that money was no problem.

It was exhausting in its entirety, but Wanda managed to find a decent and entertaining distraction which was watching Pietro and Sam bicker for the attention of the guests. At the same time, Natasha kept her company at the bar. 

The widow's voice calling her attention made her take her eyes from her twin supported on crutches to her newest teammate. Wanda was still a bit uneasy around Natasha - Her own guilt about the confrontation in which she invaded the other's memories, in addition to the moment of being scolded for a borrowed jacket made her feel embarrassed, even though Natasha had been very kind around her since then and had even been the person to lend her the red dress she wore tonight.

"You were tense all night, Maximoff." Commented Natasha not teasing her, but as a friendly remark that made Wanda sigh. The redhead glanced at Pietro before turning her attention back to the younger girl, her gaze softer. "It was just a scare, Wanda. He'll recover, and before you can miss him, your brother will be causing trouble again."

The joke drew a smile from her, weak but still true. Wanda tried to take Natasha's words to heart, hoping that the reaffirmation would push away all the nightmares she'd had with the memories of her brother bleeding in a destroyed Sokovia, dreams created by her fears that her brother's masked savior wouldn't have arrived in time.

Natasha cursed suddenly, and Wanda stared at her curiously, only to discover the widow staring at something behind them, at the entrance to a party that was emptying as the night wore on.

“"What the hell is this little shit doing here?" Grumbled the widow and Wanda frowned, surprised that although it was a swear word, the anger didn't carry over into Natasha's gaze. She looked more worried than anything else.

Looking back, Wanda saw a singular figure. The band T-shirt, even if hidden under a pallet, brought a faded, confident tone to the figure who greeted with polite smiles and made their way to the bar with such familiarity that Wanda immediately understood that whoever the person was, they had been to the Tower many times before.

But Natasha came out from behind the bar at a hard step and met you halfway, close enough for Wanda to see how Nat grabbed your wrist and hear the words whispered in a scolding tone.

"What are you doing here, Y/N?"

Your posture was not intimidated one bit - You freed yourself from the tug effortlessly, smiling and adjusting your jacket.

"I was invited, of course."

Natasha narrowed her eyes, assessing your response during the seconds you looked around, smiling and waving to a few people. "I'm going to kill Tony."

You sighed impatiently. "Come on, Mom, it's just a party-" 

The term made Wanda's eyes widen, almost unable to resist the urge to raise her head and fully expose her spying on the conversation. Natasha didn't let you finish, walking off at a harsh pace toward the iron man on the other side of the room.

With a roll of your eyes, you ignored that and made your way to the bar. 

Wanda noticed a few things quickly as you reached out beside her to grab a bottle of booze from behind the counter. The first was that you were certainly not the legal American age to be drinking and this explained the checking glances you threw around before stealing the drink, and the second was that your complicit smile toward her made her heart forget how to beat properly.

"Sorry about that, Natasha is quite the doting type of mom." That was the first thing you said to her, as you moved close enough for Wanda to swallow dryly at the intrusion of your perfume into her senses, intoxicatingly attractive. You smiled again, propping your elbow on the counter beside you to extend your hand to her. "I am Y/N, by the way. And you're Wanda Maximoff, right?"

Jesus, keep it together. She thought, feeling her face heat up at the attention.

If Pietro saw the disaster, he would be laughing at her face, and knowing that her brother was just a few feet away ready to mock her, made Wanda suddenly gain a little confidence.

She confirmed who she was and as she shook your hand, she added, "I didn't know Natasha had any children."

You chuckled relaxedly. "It's complicated." You replied, releasing her hand to grab the beer bottle you left resting on the bar. "She's not my birth mother, I'm more like a souvenir"

Wanda frowned at your rather vague answer, ready to inquire when before you could take a sip of your drink, someone took it from you from behind your shoulder - It was Clint Barton, also wearing a suit and with a smug expression of repression.

"I'll take this." He chuckled, ignoring your sigh of protest and approaching to greet Wanda quickly before turning his attention back to you. "And may I ask what you're doing here, kiddo?"

You snorted impatiently, putting your hands in your pockets. "What do people do at parties, Barton?" You returned naughtily, but Clint grinned, shaking his head.

"You know Natasha is going to give you a hard time for this... in addiction to drinking-"

"What drinking? You didn't even let me taste it." You interrupt grumpily and roll your eyes when to further irritate you, Clint takes a long gulp. With a sigh, you lift your chin toward Wanda. "I'm just getting to know the new Avengers, it's not a crime to make friends." You commented, offering Wanda a wink that made her swallow dryly. 

Great, of all the people she could meet in a new country, she was going to have a crush on the Black Widow's daughter. Her luck always improving.

"Kiddo, you know the rules-" Clint tried to reason, but you huffed impatiently again.

"God, you guys are such hypocrites!" Despite the clear irritation, your tone remained controlled. "The Maximoffs are what, months older than me? Yeah, Barton, I read Fury's files. Honestly, this is ridiculous! Stark is also trying to recruit that fourteen-year-old vigilante, but suddenly if I want to join the team it's the most dangerous thing in the world! I only came for the party, but I'd be happy to get a thank you for the last mess you put yourselves in! I don't know, like a "thanks Y/N for saving my life" instead of a "you're too young to be here", Uncle." Your venting made the man lower his head, sighing in agreement. 

The archer tried to call you over to ease things, but you had already left the scene, annoyance stamped on your expression. With another sigh, this time in defeat, Clint returned the bottle to the bar and touched Wanda gently on the elbow.

"It wasn't the best way to meet her, but I hope you don't get a bad impression." He tried to joke, but Wanda only needed five seconds to reflect on your words to understand exactly who you were.

"Clint, she's helped us in Sokovia, didn’t she?" Inquired the girl with a certain desperation. "She’s the one that saved Pietro?" 

Barton smiled proudly. " Yeah, that's her." He confirmed to which Wanda sighed softly. So many days wondering how she could find and thank the mysterious person who ensured her brother's safety and the closest thing to a father figure she had at the moment, only to have you stand in front of her and get tongue-tied.

You disappeared in the midst of so many guests, and Wanda gave up searching with her gaze when Clint called her back to get her attention.

"You'll have time to say thanks." He commented realizing the whole thing and smiling softly. "If Y/N gets what she's been pushing at for years, you two should be roommates. And well, whenever she's not at school, she's around."

Wanda absorbed the words attentively, feeling her curiosity rise. "Oh, really? And how old is she again?"

"She wasn't exaggerating, Maximoff, she really is only a few months younger than you and your brother." Clint replied casually. Although he was looking around, old habits of an agent, he seemed willing to talk to Wanda. "The only reason she's not the youngest Avenger is because Natasha doesn't want her to be on the team."

The information makes Wanda frown. "Why is that?"

Clint smiles, shrugging. "Safety, of course." He gently rebuts. "Aliens and bio-nuclear warfare isn't exactly the right place for a teenager."

"Still here I am.'" Wanda retorted without sounding really annoyed. Clint hesitated before sighing. 

"It's different, Wanda."

"Of course, Clint." She retorted with a fresh bitterness on the edge of her stomach. "She matters."

Barton grimaced, moving a little closer and staring her in the eye. "Don't jump to conclusions without knowing the full story." He began. "These are different situations. You and Pietro are enhanced young people without a country to go back to. And of course your safety matters to me. But we've had this conversation before, Maximoff. When you faced that army, you chose to be an Avenger, even though you can resign from this position whenever you want, you are a very strong girl who I would trust on a battlefield. But Y/N is 17 years old and the most action she's seen in her life was at the drive-in of The Future Terminator ." Clint commented but Wanda looked away, catching your figure again, this time greeting Pietro who recognized you far more easily than she did. The hug he gave you made her look at Clint seriously.

"I think you give her little credence." She retorted, impressed with her confidence in defending someone she didn't even know. "She made a difference in the last fight."

Clint laughed dryly. "She's already won you over, hasn't she? She's a born talent." He teased, smiling at the pink tint to her cheeks. "And speaking of talent, I have to admit, that kid has plenty of it. Natasha trained her of course, but never let her go into real action. And well, she's always been very observant. Tony has a sweet spot for her, taught her everything he knows, and if you ask me, he spoils her a little. But I can't blame him, she gives us those puppy dog eyes and it seems like no time has passed. We're all old and she gets what she wants from those soft adults."

The warmth and nostalgia of the veteran's words made Wanda smile as well. She let a moment pass before commenting:

"Earlier, Y/N said something about being... souvenir." And the phrase drew a hearty laugh from Clint.

He shook his head in disbelief before retorting, "It's a long story..."

"It's not like I have anywhere else to go." Wanda jokes it's kind of dry humor, but it makes Clint chuckle weakly. He settles into the chair next to her and assumes a thoughtful expression.

"Well, I guess it all started in Budapest..."

It's not like she needed any more reasons to like you, but nonetheless, Clint gave all of them and more. The story was brief but much appreciated; Natasha found you by chance, the joke about being Souvenir now made sense and Wanda wanted to laugh at your dry sense of humor so similar to hers. A professional Russian spy is given a second chance and while she is trying to gain the trust of the people around her, she encounters an angry child during an infiltration and elimination operation. Unlike everyone on the team of military and guilty billionaires, you were just a civilian with no options. Born into a family made up of people who made all the wrong choices and compromised your safety. Enter the Shield, with two agents who were determined to bring the only survivor home. 

Wanda immediately understood Natasha's responsibilities and desperate desire for your safety. 

Clint's narrative grew vaguer, and he got quieter as he drank more. Wanda didn't need telepathy to know that the archer was thinking about his own kids, and with a tired smile, he took a last sip of his beer and offered her a pat on the shoulder.

"Time for me to go home, Wanda." He commented, looking around at the practically empty party room now. They had been so wrapped up in stories about the past that he had barely seen the party ending. "Whatever you need, give me a call, okay?"

Clint's goodbyes were always like this, and Wanda just returned the smile. 

Alone at the bar, she decided to make her way to her twin brother who was now sitting on one of the couches. The whole way there, she tried to keep her racing heart in check on account of the person in the opposite seat.

"[...] And all that for her to kick me out of bed the next day!" The end of Sam's story drew laughter from the group, and Wanda tried to go unnoticed and find a corner, but once you were close enough, you adjusted yourself on the couch.

"Hey, there's space here." You offered gently, tapping the free spot next to you and with all the attention on her, Wanda could only accept the invitation quickly, squeezing in next to you on the couch. 

Sam, who didn't mind the momentary attention stolen, continued to tell stories of failed date nights, tales funny and embarrassing enough to keep the group entertained. Wanda was too busy trying not to look like a complete mess and hiding her own expression from her curious brother to pay attention to them.

Before she could realize it, she had stood beside you in complete silence for half an hour, just listening and forcing smiles whenever Pietro tried to include her in the conversation at the mention of some memory they shared. The party officially ended as the night wore on until only those who were part of the team were left in the room. And well, you.

"Hey kiddo, come on, I'll drive you home." It was Natasha already with a jacket over her dress and keys in hand. The information that there was a home beyond the tower stuck in Wanda's mind, and she had to force herself to stop imagining what the black widow's ordinary life as a single mother would be like. 

Instead of getting up, you sank further into the sofa, stretching both arms out on the support of the furniture. Wanda was sure her face was the color of Natasha's hair, but she didn't dare look above her own lap, being sure that Pietro would notice if she did.

"Thanks, Mom, but I'm going to stay a little longer."

Natasha sighed wearily. "Kid, please." She insisted but you didn't lose your slouched posture.

Instead, you let your arm fall over Wanda and Sam, each on your side. "I just made new friends, come on!" You justified, squeezing them both for a moment. Wanda bit the inside of her cheek hard, "And tomorrow is the weekend!"

The widow didn't look persuaded at all, but a certain iron man mimicked the gesture you made with the other two, hugging Natasha sideways as his free hand brought out a little cocktail.

"Don't be so grumpy, Romanoff." Tony teased. "It's not like Y/N is twelve. In fact, I already bought her an eighteen birthday present."

The information made you get excited, and get up to try to get more information out of your uncle about that surprise gift. 

Wanda let out a breath she didn't even realize she was holding when she no longer had your arm around her, and as she raised her eyes and met her twin's curious gaze, she knew the color of her cheeks had worsened.

When Thor was drunk enough to keep talking about Asgard, and Natasha's keys were hanging over the hammer on the table, you yawned in the middle of a joke.

Steve chuckled, shaking out his hair and exchanging a quick glance with the widow talking to Agent Hill across the room.

"It's late, let's call it a night, Avengers." Announced the captain, receiving a chorus in protest but far too tired to counter more willingly. 

Wanda herself was missing her heels, practically asleep against the shoulder of her twin brother, who was in one last round of improvised poker with the Falcon.

"Party killer." Tony teased with his eyes closed - He had been woken from his nap by the voice of the captain, who laughed at the comment before offering his hand to encourage you to get up from the couch.

The next few minutes were a blur in Wanda's mind until everything came back into focus at once. She was holding the crutches with her magic and helping her brother to stand when she heard you mutter something about sleeping in the tower. Suddenly, your sleepy figure tripped over the table leg, and instead of a tragic accident with the hammer static in the center, everything crashed to the floor.

The Mjolnir rolled a few inches away from your body, and you laughed embarrassedly, half of Tony Stark's punch in your jacket. 

"Damn, let's hope she didn't scratch your toy." Joked Sam, but Thor was half pale looking at you in shock.

It was Rogers who lifted you like a knight to the rescue, but when he tried to duck to retrieve the hammer, the item didn't care to flinch. 

Suddenly the whole group understood what had happened while you were distracted by the punch damage to your new suit.

"Sorry, Uncle Tony, I think it's going to stain..." You muttered upset, raising your eyes to the room of adults staring at you and breaking into a confused laugh. "What?"

Thor swallowed dryly. "Hm, kid, can you... pick up the hammer for me?"

You shrugged, ducking down at the same moment. "Yeah, sorry, I didn't mean to knock it over." And you lifted it without any difficulty, extending it to Thor who looked about to pass out and didn't make a move. You made a confused face. Opening your mouth to question, you had no chance to do so as Thor was already looking at Natasha.

"We have to talk." He pointed at you next. "The three of us."

Nat sighed and grabbed the hammer from your hand, tossing it into Thor's lap who caught it just in time to avoid hitting him in his most sensitive parts, grimacing at the redhead.

"See? It's no big deal. I can lift it too, so don't even try to give me that look."

"Natasha-"

"No. She's a kid, Thor! Don't even start, we're leaving!"

"Romanoff!" Insisted the god, but he had to get up to follow the figure of Nat, who had grabbed your hand and was practicing running away down the tower.

The rest of the team stood in an embarrassing silence, being able to hear the heated discussion in the hallway of the other three for the next few minutes until Steve cleared his throat.

"I think it's best if we each go to bed..." 

"Shush, popsicle." Cut Tony impatiently. "We just found new rulers of Asgard."

"Yeah, let us hear it." Insisted Sam and Steve got no support from anyone else, everyone too curious to give privacy to the discussion that seemed close to ending.

A moment later, Thor returned with a smile on his face, and next to him, a widow with her arms crossed. "We have a proposition to make." Announced the blond man, giving the smaller one a gentle nudge. 

Natasha sighed stubbornly. "It's against all my wishes-"

Thor snorted good-naturedly, nudging Natasha's face like an older brother and ignoring the other's protest to excitedly tell the room: "Everyone has seen that little Romanoff can lift the hammer, and well, this is the greatest proof of honor, strength, and dignity a warrior can have and I think it's more than enough to give that girl a chance to be part of the team like she's always wanted since she was a rude little brat-

"Thank you, Uncle." You cut in with a laugh as you came into the scene again. Wanda saw that you were now out of your wet suit, the t-shirt gave way to what looked like one of the social shirts of the party waiters and was clearly an improvised outfit by the way half the buttons were still being buttoned.

Thor suddenly wrapped you in a corner hug, looking very proud and the gesture made you chuckle. "They grow up so fast, don't they?" He commented tearfully, to which you shook your head.

"I would still finish school, and there's college too, but Thor thinks he could train me like the Asgardians. That is of course, if you guys would accept me into the team. What do you say?"

The group grinned affectionately, and as Steve Rogers sniffled softly, Tony opened his arms excitedly.

"Of course, you can be an Avenger! Come here!"

As the adults moved to hug you tight, the new members stood watching politely, smiling at the scene. Pietro, now standing next to his sister, leaned in to whisper:

"I saw the way you look at her.” He said, and Wanda bit the inside of her cheek, trying to hide any reaction. "You totally have a crush."

"Shut up." She snapped sullenly, ignoring her brother's chuckle.

Your inclusion in the team gave energy for one last round of drinks - non-alcoholic for the underage trio - in celebration. And around three in the morning now, Wanda could barely keep her eyes open.

She walked Pietro back to his room, worried that he would stumble on the way and ignoring her brother's jokes that he would speed up before he could hit the floor, and only after he was comfortable under the sheets did she leave the room towards her own.

She eventually found out that Clint didn't lie. In fact, you were her roommate, and well, she felt a little embarrassed to interrupt a moment of reconciliation between you and your mother, who was kissing your forehead before letting you go to rest. The widow also offered a smile to Wanda who nodded absently, and thus, the two of you were left alone in the hallway.

"Hey, Maximoff."

The brunette smiled, scratching her eyes softly. "Hey, new Avenger." She managed to joke, eliciting a shy giggle from you. It was clear that you were pleased and excited, and Wanda wished she could say that she wasn't affected one bit by the gleam in your eyes, but that would be a lie.

"I'm still sort of digesting that one. It seems surreal." You comment, scratching behind the back of your neck. Steve's act of ruffling your hair left earlier that evening gave you an air of domesticity that made Wanda's breathing catch. Damn it, Pietro was right. She was a goner. "I know the situation is quite different, but I guess you must be nervous too, right? Your brother at least, acknowledged that he is."

Wanda blinks in surprise, stealing a glance at Pietro's door. He hadn't confessed this to her, but it made sense that despite everything, he was nervous about becoming a real superhero.

"Yeah, I guess." She retorts, crossing her arms. "I think it feels more real when we're fighting together."

You chuckled softly, hiding your hands in your pockets. "Don't let my mother hear you. She's still processing that part." You joked, getting a soft laugh from the other, the sound bringing a soft color to your cheeks that Wanda doesn't notice, too busy hiding her own. "Hey, total change of subject but do you go to school?"

She blinks in confusion, "What...?"

"It's just that it would be cool to go with you!" You quickly clarify. "Since we're similar ages, I figured we could be classmates..."

Wanda shifts the weight of her foot awkwardly, clearing her throat. "Hm, I fell behind." She interrupts, frowning slightly. "You know, the schools stop with the conflicts and the bombings. And then Hydra came and the tests and it didn't make sense for either me or Pietro to keep studying anymore..."

"Oh, yeah, that makes sense. Sorry." You mutter clearly embarrassed that you brought up the subject. Wanda uncrosses her arms, not knowing what to do with her hands. "God, I'm so stupid."

"It's okay, you were just curious." She tries to reassure you, receiving a nod and a forced smile.

It was your turn to switch the weight of your feet and to take your hands out of your pockets to cross your arms. "Sorry, sometimes I speak without thinking. And I think too much, so often the lines slip out before I finish thinking about them... Anyway, I read your file, and I know the basics of history so of course it was inappropriate to ask such a stupid question and-"

"Y/N." Wanda interrupted you with a somewhat impressed laugh. She had just realized that you were as clumsy with social interactions as she was. What a great pair you would make. "It's no problem, really. It's... sweet that you care about my education. I think Stark is taking care of it, with the whole paperwork thing, you know? We'll probably have a tutor, me and Pietro, I say."

"Sure, that makes sense." You comment with a sigh. "And tutors give homework, right? I'll be around, we'll be able to help each other and everything."

Wanda chuckles tenderly, nodding. She's exhausted, but she doesn't want this night to ever end. "That's a great idea, detka." She lets the nickname slip, begging the gods that you let it go. But of course, you choke and turn pink, consequently bringing warmth to the other's face.

There is a timid pause between you before you mutter.

"My mother taught me a bunch of foreign languages growing up." You recount quietly, staring at your feet as Wanda stares at a dot in the hallway. "But I wanted to learn Sokovian to meet the new Avengers. It's cool if you want to call me that...I like it."

With her face very flushed and her heart racing in her throat, Wanda could only nod and hum in agreement, her shyness drawing a small laugh from you.

"Risking a second inappropriate question tonight but you wouldn't have a phone, would you?" you quibble, to which Wanda quickly denies. You nod. "I figured not yet. I'll get one for you, and for Pietro too. That way we can keep in touch, you know? I can send you memes, or homework cheats. Or movie recommendations. We can even create a superhero Instagram page for you."

Wanda giggled shortly, nodding clumsily at the tenderness of your gaze and the concern for her entertainment. "You are so silly..."

You narrowed your eyes in amusement, pointing at her. "Let's see if you'll say that when I turn you into a social influencer." You joked getting another hearty laugh from her. 

During the next pause, filled with complicit giggles, Wanda knows you are staring and you are doing the same and before it gets awkward, you clear your throat and break the charm, returning some of the space you broke by instinct during the conversation.

"It's late, we should get to bed before the captain comes to do it." You remark and Wanda nods in agreement, even though she wishes she stayed. 

"We'll see each other tomorrow. Right?" 

You agree so quickly that your neck snaps. "Of course, t-tomorrow. Yeah, 'can't wait." Wanda smiles tenderly, nodding before walking away to her own door.

She enters first, biting back a silly smile that struggles to fill her own face.

Alone in the hallway, you have the same problem.

[queenimmadolla]

Hey hun, Ive got a horrible chest cold AND im on my period at the same time, so as you can imagine I feel like a dumpster shit fire right now. If its possible could you do a little drabble where Eddie is nursing a sick reader. If not i totally understand I know youve got a lot on your plate atm. Thanks hun, love ya ❤️

happy to drop everything to nurse one of our own back to health 🫡. hope this helps make you feel better!

“I’m dying.” You whined from the mounds of blankets you were surrounded by, with a pathetic sniffle.

  “You’re not dying.” Eddie refuted, as he measured out your medicine, pouring the bitter syrupy liquid into the cap you’d have to throw back. He was also trying to hide his grin.

  It’s not that Eddie liked it when you were sick, but now that the two of you lived together—in a crappy one bedroom apartment that was the best thing in the world because it was yours—he could nurse you back to health, take care of you. And if you just so happened to be extra cuddly whenever you were sick, that was just a plus.

  It was domestic. 

  Eddie loved living with you, even if you left all the bottom cabinet doors open whenever you retrieved something and he’d bust his knee against them, loved that you were the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes in the morning and the last thing he glimpsed before falling asleep. Loved brushing his teeth in the mirror with you at his side doing the same thing, loved how he had a five minute window to convince you it was a good idea for the two of you to just stay home together instead of parting to go out into the world. Most of all, he loved being able to look up from whatever he was doing, be it planning out future Hellfire sessions or working on a new song or even catching up on his reading, to see you curled into the loveseat, or in the kitchen, hear you humming as you walked down the hall. 

  Existing around him.

  Co-existing with you was something Eddie wanted to do forever. If this was married life, Eddie would be on his knee the second you felt better. 

  “I’m dying.” You reaffirmed, scowling when Eddie turned around and you caught sight of the yellow–never a good tasting color for medicine–liquid filled measuring cap in Eddie’s large grasp. 

“You’re not dying on me, baby. I refuse to let that happen. Now, take your medicine so we can make sure it doesn’t.” He sat down on the edge of the bed, medicine held out to you.

  Gingerly, you grasped it and when he reached for the orange juice on your side table, you switched up, “You know what? You’re right. I’m not dying. I feel better already.”

  “Drink the medicine,” Eddie smirked, handing you the glass. 

  “But it’s Prescription.” Your frown deepened, tongue already assaulted by the idea of what it would taste like. Eddie had taken you to the doctor’s yesterday morning and picked up your prescription after so you’d had the pleasure of taking it three times already. 

  It was a nasty son of bitch.

  “Which means you’ll get better faster. Drink.”

  You gave him one last glare before downing the medicine like a shot. Your face contorted in disgust and Eddie chuckled as you hurried to take a drink of your orange juice to wash the taste away.

  “That’s poison.” You croaked, handing Eddie the juice and empty medicine cup before settling back into your pillows with a pout just as an onslaught of coughs hit you, sending you into a fit you muffled against your inner elbow. 

  Eddie could hear your chest rattle with them and placed your medicine cup and glass down on the bedside table so he could rub your back.

  Once your coughing fit had subsided, you took a couple of shaky breaths before glaring up at him again, “It didn’t work.”

  Eddie rolled his eyes and nudged you over, much to your surprise. The bed was littered with your used tissues, some having been coughed into and others containing your snot. Not exactly the place to want to be.

  “My poor, sweet, gross baby.” He cooed as he settled in behind you, pulling you right into his chest.

  You ignored the gross comment and protested even though you were curling right into him, nose nuzzling against his hoodie covered collar bone, eager for his warmth. Of course you’d gotten sick just as winter settled.

  “Eddie! You’re gonna get sick.” A pitiful argument considering you were already settled on him like a cat having found their new lounging spot. 

  “Oh, I know I am. Who cares? I slept next to you last night and woke up to a hill of your snotty tissues in my face so it’s already in my system. No use in denying myself the love of my life.” You felt his hand drift lower until he was patting your ass cheek. He wasn’t trying to start anything, it was just one of Eddie’s many love gestures. When he’d ask if he could squeeze your ass like it was some sort of stress ball to comfort him—that’s when he was going for it. 

  “It wouldn’t be in your system if you hadn’t insisted on still sleeping with me last night.” You reminded him and felt him shrug under you in response. You peaked up at him to see him relaxed, one arm propping his head up with the other holding you to him. His eyes were shut and a look of utter content was on his face. It was almost like he’d been the one to take the codeine. 

  “We didn’t move in together so I can avoid you, this is just some more experience for us. You deal with my morning breath, I deal with having our bed covered in germs when you’re sick.”  His hand began to stroke up and down your back and your eyes fluttered shut, the codeine making quick work of your system. 

  “Why am I the one suffering in both of those scenarios?” You slurred out.

  Eddie shook with laughter underneath you, “Shut up and go to sleep. I’ll make you some soup when you wake up, you jerk.” 

  You did fall asleep. And when you woke up, Eddie insisted on carrying you—because a chest cold apparently meant you couldn’t walk yourself anywhere—to the living room where you watched some television while he did his best to follow a recipe your mother had given him for a homemade soup she’d make whenever you were sick. 

And three days later, when you’d made a full recovery, Eddie developed a rattling cough. The ring he’d hidden in a pair of his shoes would just have to wait until you nursed him back to health.

[toxifoxx]

punching my monitor. i dont care that im being a bitch about this i think im allowed to bitch. i reblog my own shit its not like people miss it hell there's even a good chance they've been directly inspired by it too. and i dont mind inspiration. but i am seriously seething seeing red furiously jealous over the fact my ideas are only liked and celebrated when they are said by somebody else entirely.

seeing someone post the exact same ideas i had but get a thousand times more attention for them is actually driving me insane a little bit i swear to god man

[genderkoolaid]

Oh my God, now I'm seeing people claim that trans men loosing their titles through the new FIDE regulations and only getting recognition back when detransitioning is good actually, because it affirms their gender. Will this argument never end? They just want to keep trans people from competing and having success, plus reaffirming that girl brains are weaker. Nothing about this is good.

AAAAAAAAAAHGHGHGHHGHGHG

Look taking away trans men's titles is 100% an extension of the patriarchal protectiveness over women as a category. And of the way transphobia views trans people as "really" whatever gender makes it easiest to attack us. Trans men are told they're "really" women because they need to go to a gyno, and then alienated from "women's" health clinics and women's shelters because they're too male.

The secret thing about trans people is that the patriarchy doesn't want any of us to be considered real women as we are. It wants to force transmascs into women's bathrooms and then beat the shit out of them for being trannies preying on women all the same. If you act like the beating-the-shit-out-of-them part is good because its "validating their gender" then you are supporting transphobia. A trans woman getting arrested for public nudity because she isn't wearing a top may be being treated like a woman, but that doesn't mean what's happening is good.

But because people believe that being seen as a man must always be a benefit, it means that even when being seen as a man is actively putting you in danger, they will still say its a benefit because being seen as a man is inherently beneficial. And that's transphobia for you. Its the same thing whether its being said to a transfem or a transmasc.