#like. masks off. just block me if this is your rhetoric

[gurorori]

haha oh no im definitely not at all disturbed by the prevalence of leftists on all platforms who are loudly 'anti-genocide' when it comes to the palestinian cause (and a couple others at best :3c) yet the only time ukraine [ʊkrɐˈjinɐ] leaves their mouths is in critique, in stark comparison to the former or in complaint about their (american) government sending aid.

at first what i saw often was pointing out the differences in western media framing [ukraine vs palestine], and that's fair (until the words and the agenda of western journalists are used to paint, as a whole, ukrainians who have been actively going through genocide as some kind of white supremacists hogging the blanket of global attention when they kinda just want to live and have the rights to their own land, culture, names and families)

but no one is even caring to do that anymore, today bitches just invent metaphorical scenarios and people to get mad at and to throw an entire ethnos away because wahhhh i decided that you care for X but not for Y!!!.... all while doing the exact thing they are condemning. the exact absolute same and they don't even hide it but do lack the self-awareness to realise

[darylssunshine]

daryl x reader

“lift up your sleeve”

at the farm maybe daryl saw shane grab your wrist tightly

Caring

Word count: 0.9k

Genre: Mainly fluff

A/N: my first request! hope you enjoy anon!!

~~~~~

You squint your eyes in frustration, rubbing a hand down your face and shifting your weight away from Shane. He was fed up with the continuous search for Sofia and he was taking his anger out on the whole group, yelling at the top of his lungs with a deep southern drawl. He believed that the search was futile and that the group should keep moving, but the rest of the group opposed, including Daryl.

“We’re close to finding this girl, I just found her damn doll a few days ago!” He piped up, pacing back and forth to ease his frustration. Shane harshly chuckled in response. “You found her doll, Daryl. That’s what you did, you found a doll.” 

The group then erupted back into an argument with Rick trying to hold Daryl back from lunging at Shane, the redneck jumping up and down and throwing up his arm as an attempt to move Rick’s arm out of the way. Frankly, you were tired and hungry and on edge and sick of Shane’s shit. So you piped up this time.

“Hey!” You stepped in front of Shane, blocking Daryl from his view. The rest of the group had now ceased their yelling and all had their eyes on you and your sudden surge of boldness. Daryl moved to the side so he could properly glare at the now stunned southern man.

“Daryl was only trying to help. What the fuck is so bad about that? It’s giving people hope, and that’s all we need right now, especially Carol. Now, if you could settle down, we could think of some sort of pl-”

You were cut off from your outburst and pointing your finger in Shane’s face by him violently grabbing your wrist, rendering it immobile by his strong grasp. He bored his fiery eyes into yours and spoke lowly, but so that everyone surrounding the exchange could still hear him. You tried to mask the scared look in your eyes that paralleled his, but you knew what Shane was capable of, and you felt your breathing speed up and your wrist throb.

“Listen here, sweetheart. You ever do somethin’ like this again and I will not hesitate to break this skinny little wrist right here, do you hear me?” He was so close to your face you could feel his hot breath hit the tip of your nose. You were so focused on the pain in your wrist growing by the second, you didn’t answer his rhetorical question.

“Do you hear me?!” He yelled suddenly, the grip on your wrist growing impossibly tighter.

“Yes, Shane.” You grunted through gritted teeth. He threw your wrist out of his grasp and turned around with a huff.

“This talk ain’t over!” He shouted to no one in particular while stomping in the opposite direction.

—

Daryl found you later in the evening sitting against the Greene house, basking in the evening breeze. You were absentmindedly rubbing your wrist that Shane had grabbed earlier, when he wordlessly sat next to you, crossing his arms and leaning his head against the house. You turned your head towards the redneck and furrowed your brow in confusion. Your heart was beating a bit faster just from his presence, but you were determined to not let your nervousness show.

“M’ dad used to do that.”

You sat up, snapping your gaze over to Daryl, who was still staring at the stars above. His voice was low, but still caring. He continued, his gaze unwavering despite your movement.

“He was a drunk. Beat me all th’ time. Left bruises all over.”

Your eyes shifted to the ground, now embarrassed, remembering that he saw that entire heated exchange. “It didn’t leave a bruise, Daryl. It’s not that bad.” You said softly as you rubbed your neck.

“Lift up yer sleeve, then.” He prodded, now staring at you with his icy blue eyes. He scooted closer to where you were sitting and shifted his gaze to your right hand, your left currently covering it. 

Shifting your eyes back to a particularly interesting patch of grass, you gently rolled up your right jacket sleeve with a wince. Daryl’s brows creased in anger when his eyes were met with a deep purple bruise forming at the base of your wrist, the purples fading into soft yellows. You now anxiously played with your left jacket sleeve.

A sort of growl exited his mouth. “Imma kill that sumbitch.”

You were stunned and your thoughts were reeling, your eyes flipping from your wrist to Daryl’s concerned yet angry face. He was being so careful around the wound, very gently holding and examining it. Did he actually care about you? You originally found it unlikely, but he didn’t seem like the type to open up to just anyone. A blush was creeping onto your face after his last comment, and you were silently praying that he didn’t notice. 

He sighed, running a hand through his hair and setting your hand back onto the soft grass. “Hershel’ll fix ya up in the mornin’. Till then, be careful n’ don’t put pressure on it, aight? I want ya to get better.” You softly chuckled in response. “You got it, Dr. Dixon.” You saluted with your left hand. He rolled his eyes in response.

“Thank you for caring. Really. It means a lot.” You said sincerely, placing your injured hand on his.

“Mhm.” He shifted his gaze back to the stars as he slowly intertwined his fingers with yours. “Course I do.

[euniexenoblade]

I got harassed by velvetvexations once. The weirdest part was that as soon as she found my post (a minor gripe about terminology), I received a bunch of anon asks claiming to be from someone transmasc (and just blatantly lying about reality), so I turned off anon and blocked her and the asks just stopped. It could be one of her followers who’s too chickenshit to harass me off anon, but I honestly suspect she sent those asks either pretending to be a transmasc, or mask-off and giving up her transfem act.

So I want to start this with saying that we shouldn't be talking about her like this, this is what she wants, cuz with it she's going to be like, "Seeee Mordred's always talking about me!" Nevermind that she literally starts every mud slinging contest, she cherry picks shit to make herself look like a target when she's the one that goes on the prowl and harasses every transfem she can.

She loves the attention. She loves the fucking drama. She says otherwise cuz that's expected of her, but if you just ignore her existence long enough she hunts back through people's old posts scraping for any comment about her that she can make into a drama. She practically admitted this in summer of last year when she said she had to keep coming to my blog despite me blocking her cuz her npd made her need to know if I'm talking about her, all the while shit talking me.

So like, I want to be clear, I will just delete stuff about her. Yours just had a thing I wanted to reply to.

I don't think she's a sock puppet. In regards to the "transfem act" comment you made, I think she is transfem. I think she is a very sheltered trans woman who has lived a life away from community, which is why she can't recognize that she's supporting anti-trans behavior or that she's surrounded herself with terfs, truscum, and conservatives. Note, I'm not saying "sheltered" as in had it easy, but "sheltered" as in rhetoric she's gotten pumped into her head. There are always trans women who use outdated terms, who have outdated views, who aren't well read on theory of any kind, that's just kinda normal and it's fine. Velvet nowadays gives me that vibe of the older trans person with outdated views who's just been taken in by a truscum community. I used to think she was fake, but it's too pointless. The effort put into making her blog seem real while shooting all credibility into the negatives? It doesn't make sense to me, she's likely real and ignorant and won't assess that ignorance cuz she feels we were mean to her. And, like, whatever, it is not our duty to save her from herself. She can be the Blaire White of Tumblr and we can all ignore her.

I believe you were getting harassed by her, I believe you were getting harassing anons, but I doubt she'd pose as a transmasc just to fuck with you. In my experience, she is very proud to be the contrarian. "I'm a trans woman, I'm amab, i'm ''''tma'''' and I think misandry is real" she's always ready to spout that at you, as if it proves any point. She so desperately wants to be the arbiter of discourse, she wants to be seen as the good girl that saved the world from transandrophobia, I don't think she'd pose as transmasc. You can generally recognize her anons from the typing style. Although, @thicced-witch has had more direct conversation with her that way, so maybe she'd know if Velvet would sink that low.

It's honestly just a block her kind of thing. Block her, don't feed her the attention she craves. I get caught up in an obsession around not wanting to be lied about so I often feed her by replying to her lies about me. But like, genuinely, just block and ignore her.

[calypsolemon]

One of the many reasons you're wrong is that no one has ever said that transmascs can't harm transfems. We are equal in the oppression we face and TMA/TME discourse does, in fact, exist entirely as a euphemism, people are constantly using it as a synonym for transmasc without even realizing how mask off it is. That is who you were talking about, literally, and it's insanely disingenuous to pretend like everyone else is weird for noticing your plain English. Right now people are still spreading the lie that the person who coined the term "androphobia" has a fetish for raping trans lesbians, when it was actually him indulging his girlfriend's kink and these same people loudly insist a trans woman's kinks can never be side-eyed for any reason at all. The blatant hypocrisy is just so revolting.

And that's not even getting into the millions of ways this stuff hurts transfems, but I'd be more than happy to educate you on transfeminism unless you're unwilling to listen to a trans WLW voice.

I've quite literally seen people claim that transmascs can't harm transfems. I've seen this take. With my eyes. And I simply cannot bow to the idea that transmascs and transfems are equal in their oppression when only one of those are being categorically picked off this website one by one by staff, and only one of those has a whole widespread popular hate movement centered around ousting them from the queer community and legislating them out of existence.

I am not unwilling to listen to a transfem voice. The only reason why these asks have been answered at all instead of resulting in an immediate block is because it's coming from a transfem. But like literally all you have said so far is a massive "nuh-uh" to me talking about the things I've actually witnessed people doing, tell me I'm saying shit I haven't said, brought up a discourse I didn't even mention (my feelings on "transandrophobia" as a transmasc nb are kinda moot bc I simply don't like to define my own oppression by that term regardless of it's origin), and made a condescending response to my original post. I don't see why YOUR VOICE in specific is the only one I should listen to rather than the many transfems I see openly discussing their experiences with harassment on this website. ESPECIALLY when the post that sparked this discussion in the first place was me talking about my own feelings regarding why I'm distrustful of the rhetoric of rejecting TME because it literally reflects my own experiences with being told I can't define my oppressors. You assumedly wanna make space for transmascs to talk about their oppression, but apparently I can't discuss how my own community makes me uncomfortable with the rhetoric it has decided to recycle without getting "schooled" on a untagged post that had like 6 whole notes before you reblogged it.

So no, I'm not particularly interested in being educated at the university of keeping my eyes closed and not forming my own opinion

[babybearsnz]

It’s so dusty in there

Sickie: Jungkook

Caretakers: Bangtan, mainly Tae

Relationships: Platonic

Jungkook’s pov:

The members were celebrating Tae-hyung’s birthday tonight… and my gift still hasn’t been delivered. I ordered him a Saint Laurent jacket he’s been talking about, but I checked on it yesterday and shipping had been delayed.

‘Great,’ I thought, ‘How am I supposed to get a new gift in such short notice?’

I trudged into the kitchen where the other members were already enjoying their breakfasts.

“Morning, sleepy head!” Jimin sang, patting me on the head. I gave him a smirk in return and walked over to my youngest hyung.

“Happy birthday, TaeTae.” I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and nuzzled into his neck.

“Thanks, Kookie,” he laughed, “Just woke up, huh?”

“Kook-ah, eat something and then we’ll go for a walk to wake you up.” Yoongi-hyung handed me a plate and I nodded, suppressing a yawn.

********time skip********

It was about an hour after breakfast. Yoongi was cleaning up, Namjoon was reading in his room, Tae and Hobi were playing a card game at the kitchen table, and I was kicking ass at Mario Kart against Jin and Jimin.

“There’s no way I just got 9th place,” Jin groaned.

I stood from the couch and took a bow having gotten first place once again, laughing uncontrollably.

Yoongi entered the room. “Kook, you ready to go?” He asked.

“I’m not tired anymore, hyung.” I earned a raised eyebrow in return.

“Kookieeeee!” Yoongi whined.

“Alright, alright,” I said, turning to Jin and Jimin, “you guys keep playing without me.”

“Ya, maybe I’ll win one this time,” Jimin joked, rolling his eyes.

I set down my controller, quickly slipped on my sneakers, and followed Yoongi-hyung out the door.

Yoongi’s pov:

Jungkook hurried out the door behind me. “Hyung, why did you want to go for a walk so bad?” He asked.

“I have a plan. Follow me.”

Without questioning my intentions, the maknae obeyed, clearly confused but willing to find out what I was up to.

We approached a storefront and I stopped. “Do you know where we are?” I asked.

Jungkook shrugged, “some antique shop?”

“Look at the window display, Kook.”

He squinted his eyes, getting closer to the window. Behind the glass there were old notebooks. The insides were lined with vintage papyrus. The covers were a golden brown leather with beautiful patterns. And there was a brass hook to keep the book closed and locked. Jungkook looked back at me, I smile spread across his face.

“After you told me your gift still hadn’t come, I remembered this shop.” I told him.

Tae had been talking about notebooks like these. He said he would feel like a modern day Shakespeare if he got his hands on one.

“It’s perfect, hyung, thank you.” I messed with his hair and we stepped inside.

Jungkook’s pov:

I couldn’t help but smile as we entered the shop. The gift was perfect and much more heartfelt. Inside the shop everything was made out of mahogany. The wallpaper had tiny flowers on it. It looked like something out of a magazine. And the air was thick. I sniffled, smelling dusty wood.

There was a thin layer of dust on every surface. Everything was SO OLD. Yoongi and I were browsing around when it became too much for my nose.

“ESHHhuh!” The sneeze was dry and itchy. I desperately rubbed my nose, causing another to escape. “haESHH!”

“Ooh, bless.” I felt Yoongi pat my back.

“Thanks,” I replied. I put on a mask to try and block the dust from reaching my nose, though I knew it was probably too late.

“Is the dust bothering you?” Yoongi asked, a bit concerned.

I nodded. “haESHHhuh!”

“Bless you, Kook. Let’s get out of here, cha?” It was a rhetorical question. We were leaving.

We made our purchases and escaped to the street. I took off my mask, sighing in relief. I was sniffling and sneezing for the entirety of the walk back to the house, glad I had gotten Tae a gift, but utterly miserable.

Taehyung’s pov:

As soon as the front door opened I heard a flurry of sneezes. They sounded harsh and itchy and I immediately recognized it being Kook-ah’s allergies.

I ran over to him. “Aww Kookie, what happened?” I wrapped an arm around his shoulder and brought him over to the couch.

“Kook, don’t rub your eyes, you’re okay.” Jin rushed over with tissues while Yoongi went to find allergy meds.

“ESHHhuh! HESHHhah! ESHH!” Tears began flowing from his red and irritated eyes.

I wiped his eyes, “Aish, you’re having quite the allergy attack, huh?” I asked, unsure if the tears were from an irritant or if he was actually crying.

He pouted, “Yoongi-hyung was h—helping me get you a g—gift because mine wasn’t shipped a—an—and we went to that antique shop down the street.”

So he was crying.

“Kookie, oh no, it’s so dusty in there.” I cooed.

“B—but I got you this book.” He handed me a stunning leather journal, one with the old paper inside. I had always wanted one.

“Thank you, really, don’t cry.” I pulled him into a big hug, feeling his breath catch.

“heshhOO!” He tried his best to turn away as a sneeze ripped out of him.

“Bless you, bless you. Gwaenchana?”

Jungkook nodded and relaxed into me.

********time skip********

The members and I took turns cuddling with the maknae and giving him meds and tissues, trying our best to make him laugh until dinner.

The rest of the night was filled with sneezes, becoming less frequent as the hours passed. Kookie fell asleep in my lap and I played with his hair, listening to his congested snores. I grinned as I dozed off with him. Cuddles were the perfect end to a birthday.

[kuronekonerochan]

The og November 5th was a chaotic fun mess. Last year's was less chaotic but still interesting.

This November 5th is just another day in an ongoing genocide ignored and allowed by global leaders.

There is no fun. The chaos is real life, live and tragic. There is no "interest". Just grief, despair and a sense of impotence.

Being online and watching live television this year just makes me outraged, angered and sad.

To the point that I just wanna shut it all off and watch some silly fiction instead for the sake of my mental health.

But I can't. I feel like it wouldn't be fair to become just another person ignoring what's going on.

I can't help but I feel like I owe it to the Palestinian dying and suffering the decency of having to be aware of their plight. Even if it pains me, I feel I should continue to be updated in the current events. I can't help and it seems like I can't support or fight for them in any other way. Even my country is mostly insignificant so even if I could somehow petition something, even if by some miracle I could help change the national stance, it wouldn't make much difference to the Palestinians. (Plus I'm sick at the moment so I can't even try and do that).

But I want to at least remember it. That's the least we owe them. Remember the key political players, the politicians who defended genocide and the ones who kept criminally quiet about it. Remember the rhetoric, the admissions of war crimes and the shattering of the mask of "free thinking" first world democracies and their stance on human rights. Remember the hipocrisy. Remember these feelings of helplessness, of outrage, the horror of it all. Remember it until I die so I'll never be complacent or complicit with anything of the sort in the future. So that even if I can't help in any way right now, I want to remember this feeling of helplessness forever, so I can guarantee that in the future, if I ever have a chance to help, to protest, to make a difference or at least voice out my opinion where it can be heard, I will not let it pass by and I will force myself to act.

But I do limit myself regarding time spent on this subject for my mental health. Just enough to be updated and not a minute more. I don't listen to the news commenters anymore. I can't take it. It's overwhelming. Just the factual news. Just an hour a day scrolling update posts. When I say I can't NOT shut it off, that is my personal situation. I'd feel worse if I didn't know what's going on ll than if I just limit it to the minimum. I am not trying to shame anyone into doing the same.

This is heavy and heartbreaking and as I said a lot of us can't do anything to help anyway. If you have a way of helping, do it. Please take care of not harming your own health by overexposure to this. That won't do any good to anyone. Protect yourselves. And if you aren't in a place mentally where you can handle this don't let anyone shame or force you to speak about it. Block the tags if you must. It's okay to do what you must to get better, healthier.

[disco-elysium-via-polls]

1. "The way you're handling her strikes me as wrong."

PLAISANCE - "Mind your own business, sir." Her posture becomes very rigid. "In *our society*, people don't get to tell each other how to raise their children. It's none of your or anyone's business."

2. "I'm here to dismantle the free market and abolish child labour."

PLAISANCE - She rolls her eyes. "You must be kidding, there's nothing like that happening."

"Depends. How much do you pay the kid?"

PLAISANCE - "Good sir, what does a young child do with money anyway? No, I save it for her, as a fund. She's securing her financial future out there."

AUTHORITY [Medium: Success] - Slap the cuffs on her!

"I formally reprimand you for your corrupt activities."

"Oh. I guess I was mistaken."

PLAISANCE - She raises an eyebrow. "Oh, of course, officer. Good work. Are we done with the jokes now?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Yes, we've had quite enough fun here, right." The lieutenant taps his foot.

Plaisance strikes me as the kind of person who's going to need evidence before she changes her mind on anything.

3. "Okay... Let's change the subject."

PLAISANCE - The woman before you scans the store, her shoulders rigid and tense. Every now and then she nudges her glasses.

4. "Farewell for now, book peddler!" [Leave.]

RHETORIC - Hey, psst...

Look around.

Who -- me?

RHETORIC - Psst, hey, you!

Who -- me?

RHETORIC - Yes, you. Word on the street is you're ready to start building *communism* again!

'Again'?

How come there's *word on the street*?

RHETORIC - Yes -- you're ready to start building communism *again*. You've built it before, *they've* built it before. Hasn't really worked out yet, but neither has *love* -- should we just stop building love, too?

Can't argue with that.

Yes, we should all stop buildiing love.

Love has worked out really well for me. I'm a love winner.

RHETORIC - This conversation isn't really about love. Try to keep up, okay? This is about the communism you've *promised* to build. Word on the street is it's going to be ten thousand times larger than any communism previously attempted. Is that true?

How come there's *word on the street*?

RHETORIC - You keep saying things like *down with the bourgeoisie*, *eat the rich*, *sodomize the land-owners*, *impale all people who have more than 25 reál in their pocket*, *literally murder all human beings regardless of their political beliefs* -- that kind of stuff.

Oh, right. That sounds like me.

I haven't said anything like that.

I've said *some* mildly left wing things but none of those.

RHETORIC - Oh yes, the *mask of ambivalence*. Don't deny it. You're about to rip it off and reveal the monstrous seven-eyed lamb of global communism that will devour and masticate mankind.

Everyone can see that. So tell me, do you have any questions before we fire up the Big Communism Builder, or do we get *right down to it*?

Wait, first -- what's this *communism* even about?

Roll up your sleeves and start building Communism. (Opt in.)

It's too tiring. I don't have it in me. I'm beat down and broken. (Opt out.)

RHETORIC - Failure. It's about failure.

Failure?

I don't *do* failure.

RHETORIC - Yes! Abject failure. Total, irreversible defeat on all fronts! Absolutely vanquished, beaten, curb-stomped and pissed on -- until *you* came along! *You* will reverse the fortune of the workers of the world.

You alone, against every living thing, against every human alive: eight hundred trillion reál in the hands of an *impossibly* well organized ruling class; towering city blocks of bank-men who have the ears of prime ministers; million-headed armies of nations and the love of your own mother!

You -- against the atom, the charm and the spin. Where the whole world failed -- matter failed to bend to human will; human will failed to get out of bed and tie its laces -- you alone, single-handedly, will rebuild the dreams of the working class. You are The Last Communist.

Now get to work, comrade.

[vidreview]

VIDEO ESSAY ROUNDUP #2 [PART 2]

[originally posted november 14 2023. NOTE: while migrating the archive from cohost i've discovered that tumblr has a 10 link-block limit, which means i have to split some of these roundups up in order to maintain the embeds. we love websites don't we folks]

THE "DOESN'T NEED THE HELP" ZONE

my preference with these posts is to highlight creators making stuff that might not get much exposure otherwise. but it must be said that sometimes algorithmically successful video creators are creatively successful too. who'dathunkit?

"Are Film Critics a Dying Breed?" by Broey Deschanel.

an excellent dissection of the miserable state of media criticism today, starting at the surprise resignation of A.O. Scott from the New York Times. touches on the important role critics can play in resurrecting films that failed on release, and how we've arrived at a moment when so much criticism is (ironically) uncritical stenography for creatively bankrupt corporations. i think we're going to be seeing a lot of videos on this subject in the years to come, especially as more and more traditional avenues of media crit shut down and our society continues its profit-driven plunge into seeing art as merely a container for passive good feelings to be experienced in the moment and then forgotten forever. does a good job explaining why the firebrand critics of the 70s, like Pauline Kael, were so important, without letting them off the hook for their often elitist attitudes.

"Parking Laws Are Strangling America" by Climate Town.

an essential and refreshing dive into the outsized impacts that zoning laws (specifically parking requirements on new construction) have had on the very shape and soul of American public spaces. we like to talk about car culture and "freedom of the road" propaganda when grousing about the miserable state of public transit, but this here does a delicious materialism and cuts right to the heart of the matter. i love how he consistently refers to parking as "publicly subsidized storage for an individual's private property." little rhetorical interventions like these can do a lot to naturalize a more radical perspective on urbanist reforms. related to this is his video on Chicago's disastrous choice to sell its parking meters to Morgan-Stanley in 2009. i don't love the jokey Daily Show-esque affect Rollie brings to his stuff all the time, but the clarity of information more than makes up for the occasional dud joke. also: really solid camera work? huge props to his gimbal operator.

"Notation Must Die: The Battle For How We Read Music" by Tantacrul.

an exhaustive look at the history of musical notation and the many, many attempts people have made at replacing western notation with something more intuitive. if you've ever had a professor just go off about a huge pet peeve of theirs, you'll probably enjoy this one.

"YouTube is spreading a filmmaking disease" by Standard Story Company.

some context: about a month ago i finally bought a new camera and lighting equipment for the first time in ten years. this was preceded by months of researching my options, watching lengthy technical review videos, trying to find a sweet spot between cost and utility. i've watched a million videos like these over the years, and yet i'd never really thought about them as a genre with specific socioeconomic impacts on a population… until now. this is a technical review video that has become self-aware, one which simultaneously reviews tech and the act of reviewing tech in equal measure. it's a fun, interesting experiment that got me thinking in new ways about something i'd very much taken for granted. there remains an uneasy alliance between art and advertising here that i'm not quite sure what to do with, but the work itself is admirable and well worth your time.

----

and that's it for this roundup! good luck to those with get-togethers planned for thanksgiving-- make sure to get vaccinated, wear a mask in public spaces, and don't let anyone guilt you for staying home if you're worried for your or someone else's immunological safety.

<- ROUNDUP #1 | ROUNDUP #3 ->

[goldenempyrean]

Premiere Problems

This is just a little drabble I thought of after watching the premiere of MoM. Enjoy ;)

Lets not mention the amount of spelling/grammar errors in this. I haven’t checked this at all :p

(Btw Im still doing requests so keep sending those in!) ((ALSO my DM’s are working again!))

Summary: You and Lizzie are at the premiere of your new movie but it seems that somebody seems to be feeling a little less then well.

Wordcount:819

░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░

“Ready sweetie?” Lizzie asked you as she took your hand in her own, smiling brightly with excitement.

“Ready.” You replied, trying your best to match her energy.

You are lizzie were currently at the world premiere for the new movie which you both starred in. It had taken a lot of hard work to get this movie ready but it was going to be well worth the effort. The world seemed to count down the days leading up to the premiere, everybody anxiously waiting for the official release.

There was a slight problem though. That morning you had woken up with a sore throat and a slight runny nose. Lizzie had quickly caught on to your slight discomfort but you brushed off her concerns, blaming your symptoms on “allergies” despite the fact it was that it was almost December. You continued to assure you her were fine throughout the day as you stifled numerous sniffles and sneezes. But you did admit it was becoming increasingly harder and harder to pass of your symptoms as allergies as the ache behind your eyes increased as the hours draped by.

Quickly scrubbing at your nose with your spare hand, you had successfully managed to stave off another small tickle. It was then that both you and Lizzie were given the cue to go out and make your way down the red carpet.

There was a loud cheer of voices as the pair of you stepped out onto the carpet. It took your eyes a moment to adjust to the hundreds of flashing cameras and lights. The enthusiastic roaring of the crowd was giving you an adrenaline boost, but the bright light from all of the cameras seemed to have irritated your senses, the small tickle from earlier returning with a fiery vengeance. Luckily you had just enough time to duck your head into your elbow before sneezing twice.

“Hh.huh-tsoo! Hh-h’tichiew! Whew, excuse me!”

Lizzie turned to look at you, placing a soft kiss on your cheek as she murmured, “Bless you beautiful, allergies still acting up?” She asked, a hint of worry present in her tone.

“I’ll be okay, we just need to- Hh.. hHeh’ESCHIEW!” You weren’t given much warning as you sneezed a third time, rather loudly too. You felt your face burn red as blushed, hearing the rippled of ‘bless you’s’ come from the surrounding media.

You felt the soft pull of Liz’s hand and you followed her as she lead you behind one of the huge posters, blocking you from the public view.

“Your not okay, are you?” She asked rhetorically, “You only sneeze like that when-“ The realisation hit her and she instantly raised her palm to your forehead, gasping slightly as she felt the clamminess beneath it, “Oh darling.” She mumbled as you leant into her soothing touch.

“The press is going to have a field day with this…” You muttered, unable to mask the tiredness in your voice, sighing as you moved your head away from your girlfriend to muffle a damp cough into your upper-arm.

Lizzie took a deep breath. As much as she wanted to help you, there wasn’t much she could do at the moment. The premiere was due to last all night, plus there was no chance that you’d get home before midnight. Whenever you got sick it you always seemed to grow worst as the day progressed as if today was anything to go by, she knew that you’d start feeling a lot worst as the hours went by. All she longed to do was to go home and take care of you, showering you in love and attention.

“Hi’tshhhh!” Your stifled sneeze seemed to interrupt Lizzie’s racing mind as she blessed you.

“You shouldn’t hold them in like that. Its not good for you.” She chided lightly. Lizzie’s concern was evident as she glanced you over, her worries multiplying as she saw your glassed-over eyes and the redness which was beginning to show around your nose. “Im sorry that you have to do this.” She mumbled, cupping your warm face in her hand.

You repeated the intimate moment back to her, “Don’t apologise, we both deserve to enjoy ourselves, lets just make the most of it.” You punctuated your sentence with a slight sniffle as you took her hand and the pair of you prepared to step back out onto the carpet.

Lizzie was about to walk out when she felt you pull her back slightly. She was confused for a moment but realised why when she saw the way your eyelashes were fluttering combined with the hitching of your breath.

“Heh-h’tschiew! Huh’tschoo! Hh’ttschoo!”

She made a quiet sympathetic noise and kissed your cheek as she whispered a soft,“Bless you, bless you.”

“Thanks.” You flashed her a weary smile before clearing your throat and confidently retaking her hand, “Ready?” You asked, kissing her hand as it interlocked with yours.

“Ready.”

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[ptergwen]

stranger danger

w/c: 1.7k

warnings: swearing and peter being a smartass

summary: you befriend a certain crawling creature while out on a late night walk

a/n: hello my loves! it’s been a minute since i’ve properly written anything so i’m pretty psyched to share this with y’all :,) this was a fun one and i hope you enjoy as always hehe

-

a cool breeze cascades over you as you saunter down the sidewalk. you push your earbuds deeper into your ears, walking with purpose towards your destination. the usual horns honking and sirens sounding are drowned out by the music that’s playing.

you’re the only occupant of this particular avenue, trekking through the night in solitude.

just how you like it.

you happily continue on your evening stroll until out of no where, a figure swoops off the fire escape up above. they land directly in front of you. you jump, a surprised squeal slipping past your lips.

the unexpected encounter leaves your heart racing.

your fear quickly turns to irritation, however. how could someone be so careless? they really should have watched where they were going, especially at this hour.

you remove your earbuds so you can give this dipshit a piece of your mind.

“yo, what the hell? what’s your problem?” you demand. the disturber of peace cocks their head to the side, and very animatedly so. “what’s yours?” they deadpan.

you’re hardly able to make out their face in the darkness, which is unsettling.

“um… i asked you first,” you challenge, arms crossing over your chest. “fair enough. you wanna bite?” the stranger wonders. rhetorically, because they answer their own question.

“it’s you.”

oh, the absolute audacity.

“i beg your pardon?” you seethe, much to their amusement. “yup,” they shrug their shoulders. “i’m just saying, my job would be way easier if you weren’t out wandering the streets so late.”

“it’s barely midnight,” you justify, then think better of it. “not that i have to explain myself to you.”

your eyes narrow at the mysterious specimen before you. they let out a low chuckle.

“what does this job of yours entail, anyway?” you have to inquire.

the stranger steps toward you, finally withdrawing from the shadows. you gasp upon the reveal of their identity.

“spider-man, at your service,” he introduces himself, saluting you with his gloved fingers. “well… friendly neighborhood spider-man, is my official title.”

you’ve been sassing freaking spider-man?

“you shouldn’t be out here all alone, you know,” spider-man chastises you. he casually leans against the ladder of the fire escape. “says who?” you scoff back.

since he’s giving you attitude, you’ll continue to do the same.

spider-man looks you up and down. you can tell because of the way the eyes of his mask shift.

“says me,” he clarifies. “a pretty young lady such as yourself is, like, bait for bad guys.”

ignoring the borderline misogynistic part where he referred to you as bait, that sounds an awful lot like flirting.

interesting.

“suppose you were doing your so-called job instead of bugging me…” a smirk spreads across your features. “i wouldn’t have to worry about said bad guys, now would i?”

spider-man claps a hand over his heart in feigned offense.

“touché,” he compliments, the smug smile evident in his voice. “but, bugging isn’t the word i’d use. i’m an arachnid.”

not only is he a dipshit, but he’s also a sarcastic shit.

“whatever. clear the area, arachnid-boy,” you huff, swatting spider-man’s arm so he’ll move aside. alas, he stays put. “nah. i’m good right here,” he decides.

he’s blocking you from your route, body still rested against the fire escape.

“for real? don’t you have places to be?” you complain. spider-man hums thoughtfully. “nope. besides you, it’s been a pretty slow night. i’m gonna wrap up in…”

he glances down at his wrist, where one of his webshooters resides rather than the imaginary watch he’s checking.

“uh, now. i’m gonna wrap up now,” he informs you. “a perk of being your own boss is that you get to choose your own hours.”

that’s his first joke that earns a laugh from you. you shake your head at him, spider-man grinning under his mask.

you might be warming up to the guy.

might be.

“since you’re free, then,” you preface. “and, so adamant on me needing an escort home… how about it?”

spider-man likes what you’re suggesting.

“that’s where you’re headed, huh?” he implores, gesturing to the path ahead of you. you nod. “it’d be my honor to take you. we could both use the company,” spider-man concludes.

you embark once again on the journey to your apartment, this time with new york’s most infamous wall-climber following beside you.

he trades his usual transportation method of swinging for walking, wanting to chat with you a while longer.

“so, spider-man,” you prompt him. “how’d you come up with… spider-man?” the hero in question laughs softly. “crazy story, actually. i got my powers from a spider bite, and i’m a man.”

his explanation makes you giggle. spider-man beams, pink tinting his cheeks that you thankfully can’t see.

“a silly little spider bite gave you super strength and a sixth sense? that’s ridiculous,” you snort out. spider-man bumps his shoulder into yours. “it was radioactive, mind you.”

he’s far less cocky than he was when you initially met him, though he’s goofing around just as much. you’re into his humor sans the snark.

“tell me about you, though,” spider-man requests, inching closer to you. the two of you turn a corner. “personally, i’ve never been bitten by a radioactive spider… believe it or not,” you play coy. he breathes out another laugh.

“seriously. tell me something, anything,” he tries. “like… what’s your name, for starters?”

it hadn’t crossed your mind to share that, although you do owe it to him at this point. you owe him something for accompanying you the whole way home.

“it’s y/n,” you reply with a half smile. spider-man’s eyes widen as he processes this new information. “y/n,” he mumbles. “that has a nice ring to it… y/n.”

he instantly commits it to memory, which he’s normally terrible at.

“thanks. what’s yours?” you attempt to discover the name hidden behind his alias. “you already know it,” spider-man surprises you by saying. you clutch onto his arm. “wait, what? i do?”

“duh. first name spider, last name man,” he smoothly responds, not missing a beat. “keep up, y/n.”

you squeeze his bicep, a grin painting your lips.

“you’re kidding. i told you mine, tell me yours!” you almost whine. “i did,” spider-man sighs.

accepting your defeat, you release his arm and resume your shuffling down the pavement. he already misses your touch.

“ok, mr. man,” you concede. “could i get your initials, at the very least?”

there’s no harm in him revealing a couple letters to you, in your opinion.

“you sure can. SM,” spider-man cleverly retorts.

it seems he’s back to being cheeky. or, he simply isn’t comfortable disclosing that to you.

you forgot you two are new acquaintances because it feels like you’ve known each other forever.

“fine, fine. i get it,” you assure him. “it’s top secret, confidential and whatnot. i won’t press anymore.”

the pair of you then drift into silence. it leads to you scraping your shoes against the sidewalk to fill it, and spider-man nervously fiddling with his fingers.

he’s reconsidering.

“uh… PP,” he speaks up after a few minutes. you’re not sure you heard him correctly. “hm?” you murmur, spider-man letting out a rather shaky breath. “my initials. they’re PP,” he repeats, with more confidence.

it’s quickly shot when you bust out laughing.

“your name is pee pee? like, piss? urine?” you literally cackle, elbowing spider-man’s side as you double over. “no, that’s… no way. you gotta be fucking with me, dude.”

spider-man frowns.

“i’m not,” he quietly states. “and, technically, with my middle name… it’s PBP.”

gazing up at him, you find that spider-man isn’t messing around for a change. his shoulders slump shyly, head hanging.

damn.

you feel kind of bad for making fun of him.

he trusted you with part of his true identity, and now he’s probably regretting it.

“PBP is cool,” you correct yourself with a nudge at his arm. “yours has a nice ring to it, too.” spider-man’s tense body relaxes. “thanks, y/n,” he rasps, you flashing him a smile. “you’re welcome, PBP.”

you have the sudden urge to reach over and grab his hand, which is dangling between the two of you. as if he’s aware of this, spider-man holds out an open palm for you.

right, his sixth sense. his spider sense.

wordlessly, you slip your fingers through his suit clad ones. you’re honestly pretty geeked to be hand in hand with a real life superhero. spider-man chuckles, letting your intertwined hands fall back to your sides.

“you never told me what you were doing out here,” he mentions as you near your apartment.

you chew on your bottom lip, slowing down your pace. you’re not ready to say goodbye just yet.

“going for a walk. i do it most nights, whenever i need to clear my head,” you reveal. “it’s just me and my carefully curated playlists. it’s very… refreshing.”

“sounds refreshing,” spider-man agrees, locking your fingers tighter together. “maybe you could use a buddy, though.”

did PBP just invite himself to join you again?

you’re down, but you can’t let him win so easily.

“give me one reason why,” you muse.

spider-man didn’t realize you’d be putting him on the spot.

“i… you…” he stammers, snapping when he thinks of it. “you gotta have someone there to look out for you, right? that would be me.”

“aw, you’d protect me? from the bad guys?” you coo. “it is my job,” spider-man reminds you.

you sway your hands back and forth, peeking up at him.

“i can protect myself. because of your kind, i’ve had no choice but to learn how to,” you click your tongue, spider-man blinking curiously. “my kind?” he echoes. you exhale, “men… derogatory.”

spider-man snickers at your response. you two come to a stop, outside of what he assumes is your building.

already?

“gimme another reason,” you command, turning to face him. spider-man mirrors your stance. “‘cuz, uh…”

he raises his free hand and wiggles his fingers, a signal for you to take it. you do so with the hint of a smile on your lips, spider-man bringing both your connected hands to his chest.

“i like you, y/n. i have a tingle you like me, too,” he admits. you furrow your eyebrows, smile growing wider. “a tingle? guess i can’t argue with that.”

you meet his big, cartoon-like eyes that desperately search for your own.

“i do like you, PBP. we should definitely do this again.”

as much as you cherish your solo walks, you’ve honestly enjoyed having him around. you could get used to it.

spider-man runs his thumbs along the back of either of your hands, so gently that the simple action gives you butterflies. he grins.

“i’ll pick you up, same time tomorrow.”

[photogirl894]

"The Flower of the Lanes"

Chapter 4

"A Jinx In the Plan"

An "Arcane" fanfic!

Pairing: Silco x fem OC, Viktor (friendship/platonic)

A/N: Good grief, I am so sorry, everyone for taking so long to get back to this fic! I had a bit of block with this one for a while and I also ended up concentrating more on my other bigger Star Wars fic, so my apologies!

There's a new player in Azaela's game of back and forth! 😜 This one will be interesting, for sure!

Taglist: @darthzero22 , @oneshot-one-kill , @ilikemymendarkandfictional , @tech-deck , @crazytookalady , @ladykatakuri

《 Chapter 3

》 Coming soon!

All chapters

Explanation: After an alluring first encounter with the Eye of Zaun, Azaela can't seem to get him off her mind and returns to the Undercity once more...only to find herself in the company of a young, blue-haired girl instead.

That damn Silco just would not leave her mind!

Since meeting him for the first time, Azaela found her thoughts drifted to him constantly over the following couple days. She was spacing out at the dinner table with her parents to where her mother finally asked if she was paying any attention. Naturally, her excuse was just that she was tired and having trouble focusing.

She'd also received a message from Viktor asking for her to look over some of his notes for another upcoming Hextech project, so she met with him on the bridge between the two cities, where she found him sitting on a bench. He greeted her warmly like always and she sat down beside him as he handed her his notebook. She started to glance at his notes...when the orange and black void of Silco's deformed eye came to the forefront of her mind again. His smooth voice sounded in her ear, repeating the words he had whispered into it:

"It's going to get you into trouble one day."

Why was that haunting her? The man was just so beguiling and she couldn't understand why. After all the signs she'd been given or told, she should be scared of him, but she wasn't. She was fascinated by him and she couldn't fathom why. He was just unlike anyone she'd ever seen or met. He was dangerous yet exciting, scary yet enticing, trouble yet a challenge and fierce yet charming. He was a mystery that she was more than determined to solve.

"Azaela?"

Viktor's voice saying her name broke Azaela's thoughts and her head snapped back into reality as she looked back up at him. He had a puzzled but also concerned look on his face.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "I asked you a question and you were...quite out of it."

"I--I'm sorry, I was...distracted," she responded.

"Coin for your thoughts?" he inquired.

Azaela really debated on whether or not she should tell Viktor about her recent ventures to the Undercity. More than likely, he wouldn't react well, but at the same time, he was her friend and she trusted him. It would be hard to keep something like this from him for long.

Clearing her throat, she then said to him, "I...I went back to Zaun a few days ago...and I met Silco."

Viktor closed his eyes and sighed quietly. "Why am I not surprised?" he asked rhetorically, shaking his head. Then he followed that up with, "So what happened?"

"It went all right...I think," she answered with uncertainty. "He remembered me and let me speak to him alone. I did something stupid near the end and I left after irritating him, but before that...he seemed almost intrigued. He was surprised at how open I was with my thoughts."

Viktor snickered. "Everyone is usually surprised by that," he countered.

She gave him a small, teasing sneer back. "I know you warned me against him, Vik, but I honestly didn't feel in any danger around him. He didn't want to hurt me. In fact, he gave me a replacement canister for the breathing mask and told me to keep it."

"Does he know you're from Piltover?" he asked.

"Uh...no," she admitted sheepishly. "I'm pretty certain he thinks I'm from the upper levels of Zaun...and I gave him a different name."

Viktor seemed to contemplate that briefly before saying, "Well, that won't matter because you're not going back again, right?"

Azaela averted her eyes and chuckled nervously. "Um...actually...I was hoping to go back and...maybe see him again."

"Z, that's only going to get you into more trouble," he warned.

"I know and yes, I lied to him, but if he knew my real name, then my cover would've been blown immediately and things would've gone differently."

"And how do you expect things to go when he learns the truth?"

"I...I haven't thought that far ahead."

"You never do."

That struck a nerve in her. "Viktor, I know what I'm doing," she spat.

He replied, "You don't know what you're getting yourself into."

"You didn't know what you were getting into either when you trusted Jayce and his Hextech, but that didn't stop you." she fired back. "You still took the risk, even though you didn't know him or if you could trust him."

Shaking his head, Viktor refuted, "That is not the same thing, Azaela. Jayce, I could tell was a brilliant scientist whose ideas were revolutionary to me. Silco is also a brilliant scientist whose ideas are dangerous and he is a violent criminal. The risk I took with Jayce is far different than any risk you take with Silco because they could all result in you getting hurt or worse."

"I don't doubt he's dangerous," she said, "but I get the feeling he's only dangerous when necessary. I wasn’t in fear for my life when I was in his office. There were a couple times I thought he'd be angry, at least, but he wasn't. I'm just...fascinated by him."

He groaned and put his fingertips to his forehead. "Why couldn't you have been fascinated by Hextech like me?"

Azaela snickered. "My mind works differently than yours, Viktor," she said. She glanced back down at his notes in her lap, skimming back over them. "Though not that much differently to where I can't tell you that your notes look well in order to me." She closed the book and held it out to him. "I think your next project is looking promising. Keep me informed of the progress."

Taking the notebook back begrudgingly, Viktor said back, "Only if you keep me informed of things with Silco. If there is even the slightest hint that you could be in any danger, I want to know."

"I will," she said.

After that, Viktor took up his cane, stood up from the bench, slipped his notebook into a satchel and declared, "I'd best be getting back to the lab. Jayce is expecting me Please, take care, okay?"

She nodded. "You too."

He started to walk forward, but then stopped to lay a hand on her shoulder. They exchanged smiles between good friends and then Viktor went ahead and moved along, leaving Azaela alone on the bridge.

For a moment, she watched him hobble away. One of these days, she hoped that maybe his Hextech would be able to cure his disability and he could walk again. He didn't seem to mind, but she had a feeling that it was still something he thought about in the back of his mind.

Her gaze shifted to the other side of the bridge that led to Zaun. Despite Viktor's warnings, she just couldn't help but feel drawn back to that place.

Back to Silco.

It had already been a couple of days since she'd been back and the pull was getting stronger. She wanted to see more and learn more about the Underground...and Silco, too. No amount of research or technology had ever bewitched her as much as he had.

Though, would he even want to see her again after how their first meeting had ended? He hadn't seemed too happy with her. She could always try apologizing, but would he even care?

"Well...guess there's only one way to find out," she thought to herself.

With a turn on her heel, she walked back in the direction of the Undercity.

Even though she didn't have her cloak with her to conceal her normal attire--which she knew Viktor would be frustrated with her about--she'd at least had a mind to bring the breathing mask with her, knowing she was bound to return to Zaun eventually. She was following Silco's advice and using it as sparingly as possible so she could get acclimated to the Underground atmosphere, though it was a very difficult thing to do. The air quality was incredibly bad, it was a miracle that people lived in it.

Azaela continued winding her way down into Zaun, keeping her head low so as to avoid eye contact with any unsavory characters and to take quick breaths from the breathing mask. It amazed her how quickly the sunlight faded the further down she went, even though it was mid-afternoon. She could tell people were watching her as she walked by, but so far, no one was really paying any mind to her.

Surprisingly, she got down to the Lanes without anything happening. It seemed too easy and she even kept stopping and checking over shoulder, paranoid that maybe she was being followed, but every time she looked, there was no one that could see following her. Eventually, she came around a corner and found a small courtyard in the middle of part of the city block and saw a statue was in the process of being built out of scraps of metal. It looked almost finished, from what she could tell. It was a large man holding a pipe that had embers inside of it standing on top of what looked like a wagon in pieces. Whoever this man was, he had to have been important to Zaun to be memorialized like this. He looked intimidating, but he he had a kind face. A very curious thing. Not wanting to get in the way of the builders, she continued on her way.

"Maybe I should head to the Last Drop now...," she thought on her way out.

However, she'd only been walking a few more minutes when she heard yelling nearby and it seemed to be coming from an alley up ahead. Just as she came to the entrance of the alley, someone slammed right into her with a loud "Oof!" and they both went sprawling to the ground.

"Watch it!" she heard a younger voice say.

When Azaela looked up to see the other person getting to their feet and putting their back to her, she saw it was a young teenage girl, probably around thirteen or fourteen, with two long, blue braids running down her back, ending just below her hips. She was in a black crop top, striped purple pants cut off below the knees, loose boots and long leather gloves on her hands. There was a leather bag slung over her shoulder that was clearly filled to the brim with a few things. On her belt, she had what looked like weird metal contraptions as well as a gold pistol.

"Good luck finding me!" she jeered at the people Azaela could now see coming up the aisle. Then all of a sudden, she pulled one of the contraptions off her belt, pulled something out of it and threw it into the alley. A few seconds later, it exploded in a cloud of pink smoke.

The girl then whipped around and looked down at Azaela. "Come on, let's go!" she said, grabbing Azaela's arm and pulling her up off the ground.

Before Azaela could protest, the girl was pulling her along down a few winding streets before ducking back in another small alley. The girl shoved her into the wall and covered her mouth, shushing her. It was then Azaela realized the girl had big, bright blue doe eyes outlined in heavy black eyeliner, dark painted lips, long bangs that fell over her face as well as blue cloud tattoos along her arms and exposed sides. The two of them stayed pressed up against the wall quietly as they heard voices approaching.

"Where did she go?" one voice demanded.

"Damn it, I think we lost her!" cried another.

There was a frustrated groan. "Can't believe she got away with our stuff! We'll get her eventually."

A minute later, they heard footsteps running off. Whoever was chasing them was gone.

The girl removed her hand and stepped back, snickering and grinning to herself.

"Ha, those suckers!" she said with triumph. Then she glanced at Azaela, looked her up and down and stated, "Sorry I had to drag you along for that. Those guys were the biggest jerks."

Still taken aback by everything that had suddenly happened, Azaela stuttered out, "Uh...n--no, no problem. Why...were you running from them?"

"Oh!" The girl revealed the inside of her bag, showing a bunch of different metal parts, and giggled. "I stole all of these from them. Pretty neat, huh?"

"I suppose so," Azaela replied. "Though, it's also pretty dangerous, too."

The young girl got a mischievous look on her face as she flashed a toothy grin and stated excitedly, "I know. That's what makes it so fun!"

To Azaela, this girl was incredibly peculiar. Though, knowing where she was, she wasn't all that surprised to have come across someone who found stealing fun.

The girl looked her over, put a hand on her hip and said, "Don't think I've seen you before. What's your name?"

"Zaeli," she responded. "Who are you?"

Gesturing to herself with her thumb, the girl said back, "The name's Jinx."

"And what are you doing with all of those parts you stole, Jinx?"

"I make things with them. I'm pretty big into gadgetry and stuff like that."

"Is that so? How interesting."

Jinx gave her a grin and inquired, "You wanna come with me and see what I'm working on?"

Zaeli was a bit taken aback at such an offer from this young girl that she'd only just met. Jinx certainly seemed very open and friendly, which was a change from just about everyone else she'd seen in the Undercity, sort of apart from Silco.

"Uh...sure," she answered hesitantly. "Though, why, may I ask? You only just met me."

With a shrug, Jinx just said, "I don't know. You seem cool and you're the first person who didn't yell at me for running into them."

As she listened to Jinx's answer, Zaeli took notice of the young teen's eyes. There was a sadness in them that it seemed that she was trying to hide with her words. Zaeli figured out the meaning behind it almost right away. While she believed Jinx's answer was truthful, there was more to it.

The young girl was lonely.

Something about this realization made Zaeli suspect that Jinx probably didn't have many friends, which tugged at her heartstrings. While there was a bit of an age difference between them, it appeared as though Jinx didn't care. She just wanted some company and wanted to share her gadgetry with someone. Zaeli didn't think she could say "no" to that.

"I think you're cool, too, Jinx, and I'd love to see your projects," she told her.

Jinx's eyes lit up in response and she clapped her hands with glee. "Oh my gosh, nobody ever wants to see what I work on! This is the best day ever!"

Zaeli chuckled at Jinx's reaction, pleased that she was able to make her smile.

Jinx grabbed her by the wrist and cried out, "Come on, let's get going!" Then she proceeded to pull Zaeli along behind her excitedly.

It didn't take terribly long before Zaeli found herself in what seemed to be an abandoned mining shaft in one of the lower parts of Zaun. Not only that, but the area Jinx led her to was one giant set of flat propellers suspended over a deep chasm, which made her incredibly nervous. Though, Jinx didn't seem to mind as her entire set up was on these propellers. She had a work station near the center and other furniture and decorations spread out on the rest. It seemed as though the girl lived here. Personally, Zaeli couldn't imagine ever living in a space like this, but then again, there were plenty in Zaun that she was sure weren't lucky enough to even have a small apartment or house. There were still many that lived on the streets or in improvised spaces like this. If Jinx seemed comfortable here, then she supposed that was all that mattered.

As they were walking in, Jinx informed her, "Just a heads up: my old man's also probably coming by here soon. Hope you don't mind."

"Not at all. I can get out of your hair before he shows up," Zaeli replied.

With a dismissive wave, Jinx said, "No, you don't need to do that!" Then she got excited again as she added, "You should stay and you can meet him!"

Zaeli chuckled. "Sure, all right."

That being said, Jinx jogged over to her work station and gestured to a large metal contraption laying on the ground that had a couple metal tubes sticking out of it.

"I'm making my own rotary cannon," she told Zaeli. "It isn't done yet, but that's what I needed the parts for."

That was definitely not what Zaeli was expecting to hear was one is Jinx's projects. "Wow...that's quite an undertaking," she commented.

"Oh, I know," she groaned. "You won't believe how long I've been working on it."

Out of curiosity, Zaeli started walking around the work station to the other side of the giant propeller, wanting to see the rest of Jinx's area, as Jinx was explaining how she was building her cannon. It was such a peculiar place with a bit of a chaotic aesthetic. Seemed to fit the young girl well.

A few seconds later, she then heard Jinx call out, "Hey, old man! You got here quicker than I thought."

"Hello, Jinx."

The voice that responded to Jinx on the other side of the propeller was one that made Zaeli freeze up. She recognized it and it was the last voice she thought she would hear there.

"Oh shit...!" she thought in a panic.

Then Jinx exclaimed, "I have a new friend I want you to meet!" Before Zaeli could protest, Jinx came around from the other side, grabbed her arm and yanked her forward excitedly. They moved around the propeller and Zaeli found herself once again face to face with Silco. He didn't have as shocked of a reaction as she expected. His eyes widened ever so slightly, but he kept a still demeanor in his face.

"Zaeli," he simply said in greeting.

She bowed her head nervously. "Silco," she replied.

Puzzled, Jinx looked between them. "What? You didn't tell me you already knew each other!" she stated.

"I didn't know he was your dad," Zaeli said in defense.

"That and we only just met a couple of days ago," Silco added.

"Well, at least we can skip the introductions, then. Those are always so awkward," droned Jinx. Then all of a sudden, her eyes went huge and she cried out, "Ooh, I need to get some drinks! Don't you guys go anywhere! Be right back!"

Before either Silco or Zaeli could say anything, Jinx darted off somewhere, they weren't sure where, leaving the two of them alone. Zaeli was unsure of what to say and just stood there, awkwardly holding her arm.

Finally, Silco broke the silence, stating "What a surprise to find you here."

"You're surprised? I just found out you have a kid and it's that blue-haired spitfire who I just came across on the street!" she said back in disbelief.

He hummed in agreement. "An apt description of Jinx," he said, looking back in the direction Jinx had run off.

Feeling as though she was now intruding, she suggested, "I can leave if you'd rather not have me here."

Turning back to her, he asked in response, "Did I give any indication that I wanted you to leave?"

"Well, no, but...this is time I'm sure you want with your daughter and our last meeting didn't exactly end on the best note, so I thought--"

"It was an unfortunate misunderstanding, one we can both leave behind us. Do you agree?"

That wasn't the response she was anticipating. She thought after how she'd left things in his office before that he wouldn't want her around, but he didn't seem to think too badly of her because of that incident. That at least brought her a sense of relief.

"I guess I do," she said back, a small hint of a smile on her face.

Silco simply nodded in return.

"Now that I know he has a kid, this would explain the chalk drawings I saw in his office," she thought in her head. Then she spoke out loud, moving back to the previous conversation, "Jinx is quite the character. Probably the most charismatic and outgoing person I've ever met."

"That, she is," he agreed.

"With her firecracker attitude, I assume she takes after her mother," she said, starting to feel more comfortable with the situation.

However, he said back to her, "There is no mother."

"Oh damn it!" she inwardly cursed, now thinking she'd messed up yet again.

Though, he went on to explain, "She isn't my daughter by birth. I found her and adopted her a few years ago."

"I see. Ugh, I'm sorry. Me and my big mouth again," she said, embarrassed once again.

"You're not the first to make that assumption," he simply assured her, seemingly unbothered.

She slightly shrugged her shoulders. "That makes me feel a bit better, I suppose."

All of a sudden, Jinx reappeared between the two of them, having dropped from somewhere above them and making them jump back. "What makes you feel better?" she questioned, handing the two of them cups of something.

Taking the cup from Jinx, Silco lightly chided her, "A conversation between two adults is not any of your business, Jinx."

The young teen scrunched her face at him and whined, "I'm almost an adult!"

Unfazed by her whining, he just took a sip and said in reply, "You still have a few years."

"Ah, whatever. You're no fun," she droned. Then she whipped around to Zaeli and asked with begging puppy eyes, "Zaeli, will you tell me?"

"Nope. Not if your dad says otherwise," she countered, not even taking a chance at going against Silco.

Jinx rolled her eyes and let her head fall back, frustrated. "Ugh, you’re supposed to be my friend!"

After taking a drink, Zaeli replied to her, "Who says I can't be both your friend and his?"

Zaeli glanced at Silco and saw he had a bit of a taken aback look on his face. She supposed he hadn't expected her to refer to him as a "friend".

Jinx bobbed her head back and forth in contemplation before rambling off, "I guess I can live with that. Though, most of my dad's friends don't like me. Then again, a lot of them aren't girls. I mean, there's Sevika, but she's a miserable troll and she definitely doesn't like me, so she doesn't count. It's nice to meet another girl who isn't incompetent."

"Jinx...!" Silco scolded her with a warning tone of voice.

Hoping to move past that little snag, Zaeli told Jinx, "I don't have a lot of girl friends either."

"Well then, you and me, Zaeli! We gotta stick together!" declared Jinx, nudging Zaeli with her shoulder.

Chuckling, Zaeli told her, "Sure thing, kid. Though, I really should go. I don't want to impose on your guys' time and I should get home."

"Oh, all right...! Promise you'll come visit me soon?" Jinx held up her pinky to Zaeli, a serious look in her face.

Zaeli hooked her pinky with Jinx's and said, "I promise."

Then she was surprised by Silco stepping forward and stating, "I'll walk you out."

Though she hadn't expected such a gentlemanly move from him, she wasn't going to refuse, so she gave him a bow of her head, waved one last time to Jinx and then walked out of Jinx's hideout with Silco in tow.

As they made their way down the tunnel back to the lift that brought them to Jinx's hideout, Zaeli commented to Silco, "I suppose I should make sure it's all right with you first if I can spend any time with Jinx."

He answered nonchalantly, "She is free to do whatever she wants as long as it doesn't interfere with my work or involve me getting her out of trouble."

"And how often does that happen?" she asked.

With a small groan, he told her, shaking his head, "More than I care to admit."

She snickered. "I would imagine."

Almost a minute later, they could see the lift up ahead and Silco said to her, "I had wondered if you would return to the Last Drop after last time."

Zaeli looked down as they walked, a nervous pit forming in her stomach. "I won't deny, I certainly thought about it," she admitted to him. "I figured I might make a better impression this time instead of coming in and immediately passing out in the doorway. I was considering going there before I ran into Jinx." As she said this, they reached the lift and she pulled the gate to it open.

"Do you still wish to?" he inquired.

She shrugged. "Maybe." Then she stepped inside the lift, but then halted when she heard him say behind her:

"Then come back to the club tonight."

Her heart pounded in her chest, threatening to burst it open at the Eye of Zaun's statement. He wanted her to come back to the Last Drop, even after last time. She supposed that maybe their last encounter hadn't really irked him as much as she thought after all. As anxious as she was, though, she had to play it cool in her response.

Turning back to face him, she smirked at him and asked in reply, "Is the infamous Eye of Zaun extending me an invitation?"

He frowned slightly. "With that attitude, I may just withdraw it."

"Oh, what a pity," she said, feigning disappointment. Then she grinned and stated, "I'll be there. Give me about four hours."

Silco folded his arms across his chest. "Three," he countered.

Zaeli raised her eyebrows challengingly. "Three and a half."

His nose turned up at her and his eyes narrowed, seemingly weighing his options as he surveyed her, before he finally responded, "Very well. Until then."

Satisfied, she closed the gate in front of her, pressed the button to activate the lift, gave a small wave to the Eye of Zaun and said, peeking at him through the bars, "See you soon, Silco."

He watched as the lift raised up until it disappeared from view with the peculiar lavender-haired woman inside. There was something about her that he still couldn't quite place. Any other time, he would've never invited a random woman he barely met to his office. He wasn't that quick to trust. Then this woman...Zaeli...something about her was different and somehow, it intrigued him. That and he couldn't deny, he was moved by how much Jinx seemed to like her, even after barely meeting her. That was definitely a contributing factor to it all.

Soon, he made it back to Jinx's room in the cavern and she was sitting cross-legged on her desk, her head propped in her hands and grinning deviously from ear to ear.

"Ooh, did you just ask Zaeli on a date?" she asked eagerly.

Supposing Jinx had followed them somehow and overheard the conversation, Silco cast her a warning look and clarified, "It is not a date, Jinx."

However, Jinx wasn't convinced and she let out a laugh. "You invited her back to the club and I assume you're both just going to be alone in your office. Sure sounds like a date to me," she teased.

"It'll just be two acquaintances having drinks and conversation. Nothing more," he told her.

She narrowed her eyes and smirked, still not buying it. "Mmm-hmm, sure, whatever you say." She pushed off of her desk, put her hand behind her back and said as she walked up to him, rocking back and forth, "She is pretty, though."

"Enough of that," he stated sternly.

Jinx simply giggled, wagged a finger at him and replied in a sing-song voice, "You didn't deny it!"

Silco rolled his eyes and was about to lecture her, but she quickly changed the subject by taking his hand, pulling her to her desk and stating that she wanted to show him her newest project. He relented easily enough and paid close attention to what she said as she went on. Jinx held a lot of influence over him that sometimes he feared it would end up being his own undoing.

He would spend a little time with Jinx and then return to the Last Drop to prepare for his rendezvous with Zaeli...which, deep down, he had to admit he was actually looking forward to.

[i-am-the-balancing-point]

Why do you hate Greg?

Hi anon, I am really glad that you asked!

Many people have said it before me and worded this much more eloquently but it boils down to Greg Bryk being an entitled pos who does not take the pandemic seriously at all, topped off with some nasty flavours of ableism, borderline conspiracy-theorist-bullshit, being a little cop bootlicker, and just generally making a ton of inappropriate tweets showing him being completely out of touch with his own privileges.

As far as I am aware it all started with him making tweets about the pandemic, complaining about safety measures, and pretty much downplaying the dangers of COVID, spreading misinformation about it while doing so and just... evolved from there. I'd appreciate it if you took a look at the first post I linked and his twitter and formed your own opinion. The latter has since been deleted but there are a few captures of it on the wayback machine.

Yes, I get that common hygiene measures to stop the spread of COVID are not exactly fun. I was sick of the lockdowns too. I am sick of living in self-isolation for over two years now. What I am much sicker of however are the people not taking this pandemic seriously (no matter if not any more or never at all) and just making things worse and worse, especially for vulnerable people, healthcare workers, and everyone who has been doing anything they possibly could and made lots of sacrifices to protect them and others. Spreading rhetoric like Greg has done is harmful and a slap in the face of every responsible person who does not buy into this crap.

I did not particularly care about him before the outbreak of the pandemic. To me he was just an actor that did a good job on a game I like. COVID has been massively impacting our lives for the worse though so I am taking every person, who has not come to their sense after over two fucking years of something that humanity could (in my personal opinion) reasonably get under control by working together in solidarity and just a tad bit of discipline, personally af. People like Greg Bryk are educated and privileged enough to know better or to at least learn and he has done nothing but be a useless manbaby in regards to the pandemic. There is no way to separate him as a person, as an actor, from his stance on COVID and how it's been handled, and everyone who still supports him despite knowing better also supports the harmful shit he spews.

I am glad you asked because, while we do have access to all this information, I do not expect anyone to know everything and to always have unfailable opinions. I wouldn't have known either if I didn't come across the post linked first on here a while ago. So I hope you learned something and maybe a few other people reading this did too.

To anyone else however still refusing to get vaccinated, refusing to wear masks and wear them correctly, refusing to test before meeting others, pushing for things to open up again, refusing to socially distance, going to crowded clubs, theatres and concerts, refusing to quarantine upon exposure, flying around to the world to vacation, and to anyone echoing these "opinions": fuck you. You are not only endangering yourselves but many many other people with your bahaviour. Please block me. Please come to your senses.

[afishlearningpoetry]

Still seeing people call us a cult in 2021 😑 🚬 Is there anything that broke this blogging website's brains more than a 2010s BBC show?

Tbh and I’ll get to why it connects to what you’re saying but what really broke this website’s brains is the crab bucket culture of disposability and cycle of online abuse that it nurtured for years until it spread to the rest of the internet... like the early social justice awakening to the yfip blogs and call out posts and anonymous stalking and commenting (that carried over partially from livejournal/older fandom, tbf) that’s translated into like, faulty, second-hand sourced fanwiki websites tracking the perceived dancing with the devil transgressions of some person, a random stranger essentially, has made in their online life, and for what reason, really? For what purpose? Like I think a lot of us gained some awareness at a certain point that these tactics were thinly veiled guises to harass and take personal shots at basically random people for mostly petty reasons (clearly plenty of people are pretending that’s not what it is and went back to it), but I also wonder what it did to the brains of like the youngest people on here, who started using the website since they were children, not just high school age or close to, but even younger people.

That frame of mind is everywhere now, especially with younger fandoms, not just on here. Twitter is pretty terrible. I was watching the Mask Off video from Lindsay Ellis recently and it’s just horrifying to me the way this website essentially birthed that form of harassment. Every step of the way, the way that she (and Natalie, in her own video) detail how it happened is absolutely identical to how it happens on here, except it’s happening in daylight where public figures are in the same fight-to-the-death arena as the rest of us, which is what makes it easier to articulate. This is not to dismiss anything someone like Lindsay has to go through, considering what she disclosed in the video and that she’s been harassed by the alt-right for years, but she also has enough of an online standing to publicly face those charges and refute the majority of them. Like Natalie also said, but what happens to someone else? Someone with no name, or social or financial security, and that’s basically what I’m getting it. That kind of online abuse happening over and over and over and over again trickles down to everybody else. That’s what broke people’s brains. That’s what ruined this website.

And it isn’t just the reactionary, cringe culture post-fandom nihilism that shifted into online culture in 2016 and onwards (I’ve mentioned this before, like, the constant jokes about bad and infamous moments from tumblr), but harassment that still happens on here. You can accuse people of being a pedophile with no credibility, harass them about their eight year old fandom history, or dox and shame them out of public life without much effort, granted there are enough people willing to hop in the crab bucket with you. It has nothing to do with genuinely caring about anything but being an asshole. So for most of that to be distilled into people hate following tjlc (which was named such as a self-aware joke) for literal years when it was largely one of the most fun, positive, creative and dedicated fan spaces I’ve ever been in, and then finally having the wind at their backs to essentially cut everyone down and collect some heads because series 4 finally got the critical backlash they were waiting for to do so with widespread permission (they tried this with series 3, but it just didn’t take because the quality was too consistent), is severely aggravating.

I’ve had plenty of other, smaller negative experiences on here, whether they be trends or staples, and I’ve certainly contributed, but there’s always been enough good for me to stay. But after series 4 that was no longer the case. I just hit a breaking point where I couldn’t be as personally invested anymore, it got so bad. As much as I still want to come here for specific reasons and contribute what I can, I have a lot of trouble engaging with anything because I’m ready to see any new blog or topic I follow to dip into those same habits all over again, which is inevitably what happens. To watch anti-intellectual post-fandom nihilism — and if you’ve been here at all between end of 2016 to now you know the kind of attitude, posts, rhetoric and style of speech, and blogs I’m talking about — kind of dominate this website, has been a large part of why I only pop up sporadically. After Nov. 5th it’s been ironic watching so many people I’d describe that way unironically get into the paranormal show again. Not because I think that’s bad, I follows blogs that talk about it and think it’s cool, I made an edit at the time, or that anyone should be “above it”, we’re on tumblr after all, but because that kind of venomous behavior is still there underneath, like we’re not all also blogging specifically about superwholock shows.

A few months ago when someone accused me of being part of a q anon-level conspiracy and that we’re all “monsters of your own making”, this being before the capitol riot where dozens of members of the US house were nearly murdered en-masse, one of the things they said was that we couldn’t admit that our show was bad, but it was fine what they were doing with the other show because they were just having fun, and that we couldn’t, I don’t know, do anything or whatever about it until we were ready to admit our show is also bad. Which is a pretty revealing look into how that line of thinking, all the way from the early tumblr days, to other places like twitter, all the way back to here again has evolved despite staying the same. This bizarre blend of ironic detachment, self-deprecation, moralizing over a show’s perceived wrongdoings as perceived personal transgressions, bullying, rumors, fan wikis, and years of witnessing or being in on online harassment rewiring people’s brains to the point where not only is it impossible to do anything without jumping through twenty mental hoops before you do it, it’s essentially a both a constant threat and entry-level trial by fire into having any kind of existence in an online fandom space.

Of course it’s not just the barraging from people on here that’s contributed to that kind of culture, it’s everywhere else, because it spread everywhere. Think pieces by people not involved in the space, summaries of what happened mostly written by people who were hate following it to begin with, academic papers by ex-fans, faux-investigative pieces from wanna-be media critics trying to canonize their version of what happened into definitive internet history after preemptively blocking everyone involved so no one can respond to what they say — it’s extremely exhausting every step of the way. I can’t blame ex-tjlc people for just abandoning this place or any online space completely, because it’s still relentless four years later, and if the initial experience of series 4 wasn’t already distressing enough, whatever you think about it now, everyone’s faced the same challenge of being gradually smothered into relinquishing any ties to it through that cycle of shame that’s been perfected and streamlined right down to quick and recognizable beats on this website for over a decade.

[yeenybeanies]

Could u do #36 with Hawkeye? If not Hawkeye then could u do Logan?

you can still send prompts & questions -^w^-

36. “ what do you want me to do about it? i’m three inches tall. ” 

clint would be great for this but i gotta go with my favorite manlet this time :> also i am once again spending time designing characters that i’ll only use once smh

marvel | logan howlett / wolverine & joy fredericks / heartbreaker ( oc )

1,394 words

mild language warning

thanks for sending!! 

A guttural growl rumbles, sounding like something that would come from a beast more than a man. There’s a familiar pressure in his forearms, but he holds the metal claws housed within at bay. They wouldn’t be particularly useful in this situation anyway.

“ I could use a little help here, ”  the man snaps. He glances down at his flannel shirt, at the pocket on his breast.

“ Hmm. Looks like you’ve got it to me, ”  comes a reply from within the pocket.

“ Kid. ”  He growls again, both in frustration and from exertion. He shifts his grip on the crumbling concrete to try and hold it better. It’s only just barely keeping together. Every second, every movement, threatens to bring the whole wall and ceiling down.

“ Yes, Logan? ” 

“ Ghrr––help me with this damn wall! Before it buries the both of us! ” 

The pocket shifts. Out pops a little head-full of tight, red curls. From underneath them, proportionally tiny eyes look up at Logan, and then at the wall, unimpressed. Her lips purse.

“ What do you want me to do about it? I’m three inches tall. You’re Wolverine. ” 

“ Kid, I swear to god––– ”  Logan starts, but another jolt in the wall cuts him off. He leans into the weight, eyes closed, features pulled into a snarl.

The little one rolls her eyes and sighs, exasperated. She pulls herself further out of the pocket, then summons up her mutant abilities. Her minuscule weight lifts into the air, powered by her telekinesis. The casual clothes on her body start to glow a bright pink and morph, leaving her in her pink-and-black uniform when it fades. A black mask appears on her face in a similar fashion.

“ Fine. Heartbreaker clocking in for hero duty. ”  She flies out from between Logan and the wall and raises her hands, fingers splayed. With another breath, she channels her energy, her willpower. For several seconds, nothing happens, much to her alarm.

“ Any day now . . .! ”  the man says. His arms are shaking.  “ Joy! ”

“ I’m trying. Hold on––– ”  She pushes again, willing the concrete back with growing desperation. Under her breath, she curses. Focus, she tells herself. Push. Lift. She squeezes her eyes shut in concentration. The concrete is much heavier than she’d anticipated.

Fucking LIFT!

The rubble starts to move, no longer pulled by gravity, but by mind power. Joy moves the large chunks away from Logan, using her hands to guide her energy. Her breath is heavy. Once the weight is off of his shoulders––literally––Logan backs away. Any abrasions from falling and scraping concrete quickly seal shut, vanishing as though they’d never happened to begin with.

“ Attagirl, ”  he says. His hands lift up to cup around her tiny body. With her in his hold, the man turns on his heel and breaks out into a sprint, making for the door. Cracks in the ceiling match his not-inconsiderable speed.  “ C’mon, Joy, hold it for another minute . . .! ” 

A minute is about all she has left in her. Logan only just makes it through the door as the ceiling comes down behind him. The shock wave pushes him down to his knees. Acting on instinct, he curls around the little one, surrounding her, using himself as a shield from any flying debris.

Though her efforts were not physical in nature, Joy still suffers physical and mental fatigue from her exertion. She lies limply in the man’s hand, her chest rising and falling with exhausted breaths. Logan stays curled around her for several long moments––longer than she’d normally allow without some sort of snarky comment. Luckily for him, she’s too tired to come up with any such comments.

Only when he is sure that the rubble has settled does Logan unfold himself. He pushes himself to stand, hands still cupped around Joy. He spares a quick glance over his shoulder to the collapsed building, then turns his attention to the little mutant.

“ Hey. Still alive? ”  It’s a rhetorical question; he can hear her breathing and her heart’s beating.

The initial answer he gets is a groan. Joy sits up, a hand to her forehead to try and nurse her rapidly-worsening headache.  “ No, ”  she says flatly. Dust covers her, muting the fiery red of her hair. Everything hurts.

“ Yeah you are. ”  Logan gently hooks a thumb under her chin and tips her head up towards him. One corner of his mouth is quirked up in a half smile.  “ How ya feelin’? ” 

Joy does not resist him. She meets his eyes, her brows furrowed.  “ I feel like shit, Logan. ”  On top of her exhaustion, she feels a sense of shame. She couldn’t hold the collapse. Any other psionic mutant wouldn’t have had a problem with it! 

“ You did good, ”  Logan says, sensing her internal turmoil.  “ Maybe a little less lip next time. ” 

Joy rolls her eyes and groans. Logan picks the worst times to make jokes.  “ It still came down. ” 

“ It was coming down anyway, ”  the man says with a shrug.

“ I should have been able to hold it, ”  she huffs.

“ Nah. You did fine. You’re still learning your powers. ”  He looks back to the debris, thoughtful.  “ I’m more curious about what caused the collapse. I didn’t detect anyone else in there with us. ”

“ Neither did I . . .. ”  Joy shakes her hands through her hair to try and clear some of the dust, then gathers her focus and levitates up from Logan’s hands. His head whips back around to face her. Were she in better spirits, the little mutant might tease him for being so outwardly concerned. Unfortunately, both her spirits and energy are pretty low. She only manages to hover for a few seconds before dropping back down. Logan, having not moved at all, easily catches her again. His fingers curl, giving her something to lean on.

“ Easy now, pipsqueak. You’re gonna have to rest a while. ” 

Joy huffs indignantly and supports herself against the man’s thumb. This is embarrassing. She hates feeling so weak.  “ I’m fine. ” 

“ Uh hunh. And you’re gonna rest while I investigate. ”  Before she can offer any sort of retort, Logan stuffs Joy back into his breast pocket. She squeaks in protest, but he pays her no mind.

“ Logan! ”  Once she’s regained her bearings, the little mutant pushes her head out from the pocket and glares up at the underside of Logan’s jaw. She narrows her eyes and pushes with her mind, but finds a familiar barrier blocking her out.

“ Can’t read me, kid, ”  he says knowingly. There’s a smug twinkle in his eye. He gives his temple a tap.  “ Steel trap. Well––adamantium. ”

“ I wasn’t going to read you, ”  she says.  “ I was gonna insult you. Telepathically. ” 

Logan pushes a sharp, amused breath through his nose.  “ Heaven forbid. ” 

“ But that’s fine; I can just do it out loud. ” 

“ Can’t wait. ”  He shoves Joy’s head back down into the pocket, more teasing her than anything, and makes for the door he’d come through. For the most part, debris obstructs it. He can’t squeeze through. With a contemplative hum, the man lets his eyes wander, looking for alternative entrances.

There.

“ Hold on, ”  he says. He jumps to grab a handhold in the cracked brick face and clambers his way up to a barred window on the second story. Joy peeks out from the pocket in time to see the Wolverine’s famous claws slip out through his knuckles with their characteristic snikt! 

Gross.

She grimaces, but keeps her comments to herself. She knows it’s worse for him; he has to feel the pain every time he pops those claws.

Logan makes quick work of the bars, dispatching them with two easy slashes. His claws slice through them like a hot knife through butter. They retreat back into his knuckles with another sickening noise, freeing his hand to punch through the glass.

“ The building was already unstable before we got here, ”  Joy points out.  “ It was probably, like, a cat or something that stepped wrong and sent it all down. And you weigh more than a cat. ” 

“ Guess you’ll just have to catch me if I step wrong then, ”  he says. Though his face doesn’t give anything away, Joy can hear the implicit smirk in his voice. 

“ Ugh. Y’know, I don’t think I could yet, even if I wanted to. ”  She sits up further in the pocket, arms folded over the lip.  “ So if you fall, you’re shit outta luck. ”

[brywrites]

Partners in Crime

A/N: This is one of the earliest Reid x Reader stories I wrote and never published, and I figured, why not? Reid and the Reader often go undercover as a couple to bait an unsub, and this time things don’t quite go as planned.  CW: for non-consensual behavior, mild physical abuse, reference to rape

-

It’s always the two of them. She figures it’s because they’re so close in age, and such good friends. After months of working together, and plenty of free time spent hanging out, the chemistry comes naturally. Whenever there’s a case involving couples, and the profile alone isn’t enough, she and Reid end up masquerading as boyfriend and girlfriend, husband and wife, all varieties of people madly in love with each other. Sometimes it’s enough to just lure out an unsub, twice they’ve been kidnapped, but never for long. They do good work together. Garcia has even taking to calling them Partners in Crime, or The Dream Team.

Deep down she knows it’s not just her profiling abilities or friendship with Spencer that allows her to play the part so well. That chemistry has become absolutely natural, too much so. Long after the game is done, she finds herself stealing glances at him, staying up late at night wondering what it would be like to really be in love with him. It’s an impossible dream. Reid is brilliant, handsome, and her co-worker. Strictly off limits. And yet those fantasies continue with every smile he gives her, and a part of her hopes that maybe, maybe…

“Baltimore PD have requested our help with a serial killer,” Hotch announces in the conference room. “Over the last six months, six people have kidnapped and murdered. There’s evidence of torture and sexual sadism, though preliminary ME reports don’t indicate any sign of rape.”

“Why would they think it’s consensual?” JJ asks, skeptical. They’ve encountered incompetent medical examiners before.

“Because of the victims he chooses,” the unit chief says, nodding at Garcia to move to the next slide. Six photos pop up on screen, in groups of two. “Jeremy and Renee Lagher, Tyrone and Nina Davenport, and Louisa and Ryan Sheffield.”

From across the room, Y/N catches Reid’s eye, the two of them realizing where this is likely headed. “He’s using married couples,” Rossi observes. “Is there any indication to how he finds his victims?”

“Social networking,” Garcia chimes in. The internet has made it all too easy for predators to hunt. Oversharing can be fatal. “The couples all used Instagram, had no privacy settings, and shared photos that made it clear they were married. Their last posts were just before they went missing, and all of them used the location feature to check-in at a local restaurant.” The team throws out ideas and questions, possibilities about how he finds them and why he chooses them. It seems to be the general consensus that he must stake out the restaurant, and wait for the couple to leave after dinner.

Y/N is distracted through the discussion, unable to ignore the feeling that there’s something Hotch is keeping from them. Sure enough, the chief has one last thing to add before they get ready to head out. “Given the lack of evidence and how this unsub targets his victims, I’ve spoken with the Baltimore PD and we’ve come to the conclusion that the best way to find him is bait him. Reid, Y/L/N, are you up for this?”

The question is less of a request, more rhetorical in nature. What choice do they have? It’s their job to hunt down criminals, no matter what it takes to find them. And so they agree. On the plane, once the briefing is complete, the go about preparing for the undercover work. Garcia has worked some Photoshop magic, pulling stock photos and personal pictures alike to create two different accounts for Spencer and Y/N Fitzgerald. Over time they’ve gotten into the habit of choosing last names inspired by famous literary and scientific couples. Scrolling through the one created for her, she tries to memorize the details. They’ve been married for two years, they live just west of Baltimore in a studio apartment, they have a cat. She is a librarian, he’s a high school chemistry teacher.

Since no other couples have been reported missing, the police want them to get to work as soon as possible. That evening, she slips on a black dress and a pair of heels, her hair and makeup done much nicer than she would typically take the time for. If this is going to work, she needs to look the part. Reid is waiting for her in the lobby of their hotel, wearing a simple suit and a smile that widens at the sight of her. “You look beautiful,” he tells her.

“Thanks.” She can feel herself blushing, and reminds herself that this is all a part of the game, of the job. None of this is real. Still, when he holds out his hand for her to take, she can’t push back the happiness that bursts in her chest. They walk the few blocks to the restaurant that way, close enough that their shoulders touch. Once he’s put in a reservation, they stand in the dim light of the waiting area to take a photo. Reid wraps his arm around her, holding her close to his side. At the last second, he presses a kiss to her temple just as she snaps a photo on her phone.

“How was that?” he asks. Too good, she thinks. In the picture they look just like a couple, very much in love. It’s soon posted to Instagram, documented along with the rest of their fake relationship. She adds their location just as a waiter comes to whisk them away to a table. Dinner is wonderful, filled with long gazes and laughter and moments where his knee will bump hers, or her fingers will rest over his hand just a little too long. This is just a show, just in case the unsub is lying in wait somewhere inside. It’s a damn good performance, more convincing than it needs to be. Does she really need to look at him that way? Does he really need to give her that devastating grin? They steal all these small moments for themselves, lingering in a soft state of bliss.

It’s only temporary, and soon enough they’re on their way out the door once more. “I’m surprised you weren’t able to meet with your friend,” he says, trying to sound casual. Every so often his eyes dart along the sidewalk, trying to check their surroundings without making it obvious he’s looking.

“Me too, but I suppose plans can always change.”

Reid starts to respond, but the words never come. Instead, a hand clamps over her mouth, and something cold presses hard against her head. Metal, round. The barrel of a gun. “Do what I say,” a voice growls. “Or she dies.” Neither of them are armed, and he has no choice but to comply. A man in a ski mask leads them to a dark colored sedan, yanking open the door of the backseat. Before shoving them inside, he reaches into the pocket of Reid’s suit jacket to extract his cell phone. The device, along with her purse, is tossed onto the sidewalk, leaving them no way to contact the team as the car speeds away.

-

It’s hard to say for sure how much time has passed since they’ve arrived in the dingy cellar. Hours at least, though not a whole day. The room is dirty and cold, and Reid insists on giving her his jacket. He holds her hand still, and that small amount of physical contact is a silent promise between them that everything is going to be okay. They haven’t heard from their captor since the abduction. Does the team know they’re missing? Is Garcia trying to track them down? What’s going to happen to them?

The metal door swings open, and the man enters. His mask is gone, revealing a middle-aged white man. He is balding with a cruel sneer and empty eyes. One hand holds a gun, the other a bag surely full of the tools he tortures his victims with. Their profile was spot on. “Here’s how this is going to go,” he says. “I’m going to give you instructions. You will comply exactly. If you refuse, or mess up, I’ll kill you. If you try to escape, I’ll kill you. Do you understand?” They both nod. “Good. Kiss your husband, Mrs. Fitzgerald.”

“How do you know our name?” Reid demands, though they already know the answer. It’s like chess, all about making the right moves.

“No questions,” the man growls. “Do as I say.” Tentatively, Y/N stands on her toes to close the distance between them, kissing him gently. Chaste, soft, nothing that requires too much of either of them. But that isn’t good enough for their abductor. “Do it like you mean it.”

So she kisses him harder, deeper. If she closes her eyes, it’s easy to pretend that they aren’t here at gunpoint, that it’s just the two of them, that this kiss really does mean something. That this is the moment she’s been imagining a thousand times. He returns it, his hands settling on the small of her back in order to pull her closer. “Now, hit her.” At the sound of the bald man’s voice, Reid freezes, then pulls away. An apology is written on his face, and she braces herself for the slap that stings her cheek and sends her stumbling backwards a few steps. This isn’t going to be a romantic fantasy, apparently.

“Take off her dress, Mr. Fitzgerald.” On his tongue, their names are taunts and not identifiers.

Reid hesitates, but she gives him the slightest of nods. If they’re going to get out of this, they have to play along. It’s their only hope of staying alive long enough for the team to find them. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. His hands reach up her back, unzipping her dress in one fluid motion before easing it down her body. The black fabric falls in a pile at her feet, and she shivers. Standing in only her bra and underwear, the air is colder on her skin now, but it’s terribly unnerving for him to see her so exposed like this.

It isn’t supposed to be like this. This isn’t supposed to be the first time he kisses her or sees her undress. This isn’t the fantasy she replays on the jet each time they close a case and stop pretending to be a couple.

“Touch her,” the man commands, pointing at her chest. This is easily the most humiliating experience they’ve been put through since Hotch first started pairing them up for assignments like this, and it’s quickly devolving into the most humiliating thing they’ve been through, period. Any chance she has hoped for at some future relationship is dashed away. After something like this, how will they ever be able to look at each other the same way?

She sends a silent prayer to the team to find them soon, then meets Reid’s eyes. “It’s okay,” she says quietly. “Spencer, it’s okay.”

The pained look on his face cuts her deep. Is he repulsed by the situation? Or by her? She tries to keep as still as she can, tense under the scrutiny of the bald man. Reid’s hand covers her breast and she oscillates between trying to pretend she’s not in this body, and trying to pretend that she is but it’s just the two of them here. Every so often they are directed in new ways, as if this is just a play and they’ve become actors in some sort of twisted production. It’s quite possible this is reminiscent of an event that occurred in the unsub’s life at some point. Reid is instructed to nibble her ear, she to grope at his backside. Every so often an interruption demanding a hit or a punch. His commands become increasingly more rough, Y/N receiving most of the abuse while Reid tries to be as careful as he can with her, touching her gently, trying to make it look like a slap is harder than it is.

“Remove her bra, then take off your pants.” No no no no no. She knows where this is going. She knows how this scene is supposed to end. They both balk for a brief moment, until the click of the gun cocking jolts them back to their senses.

Reid is shaking his head, but she squeezes his hand. He can feel how badly she’s trembling. This isn’t pleasant for either of them, but her voice is firm. “Do what he says. Just do what he says Spencer. We’re going to get out of here.”

Just as he reaches towards her, there’s a loud bang from somewhere beyond the open door. “Ronald Horton, FBI!” Morgan’s voice echoes down to them. As the man – Horton – turns away to see what’s happening, Y/N bends down to pull her dress back on, Reid pulling his jacket back over her shoulders so she won’t have to waste time fiddling with the zipper. She’s grateful that he’s looking out for her, trying to save her any embarrassment. It’s hard to recall if she has ever been more relieved to see her team storming down a flight of stairs.

Hotch and Morgan drag Horton away in handcuffs, and Rossi turns to the couple who stand together, visibly shaken by the turn of events. “Everything okay?” he asks.

“It is now,” Y/N sighs.

-

Ronald Horton is violent sociopath whose marriage broke apart two months before the killings began. Oddly enough, his ex-wife was the more dominant one in the relationship. To keep up appearances, he relented to her physicality, though didn’t spare her the emotional abuse he was so apt at causing. The murders were a fantasy of his, using surrogates the enact the revenge he never had the chance to. He is booked downtown, and after a long day all of the agents are relieved when Hotch informs them they’ll be staying in Baltimore one more night to catch up on sleep.

She tosses and turns in her bed. Her mind races through everything that happened, and everything that could’ve. If the team hadn’t arrived then, what was he going to force them to do? How far would they have to go? She tries to untangle the violation, the awfulness of it, from the fact that the romantic actions were things she had wanted from Reid. But not like that. Never like that.

Her skin doesn’t feel like her own. She still feels exposed, wrapped under two blankets. She wants to forget it, but she doesn’t want to forget him.  

There is a knock on the door late that night. At this hotel, sets of two rooms are connected by a door in the wall, and she knows who is on the other side before she opens it. “Hi,” Reid says softly. “Did I wake you up?”

“Not at all,” she replies. “I couldn’t sleep.” She motions for him to come in, and he does so somewhat reluctantly.

“Um, listen, Y/L/N, I just wanted to apologize for everything that happened before. That must’ve been… uncomfortable for you, and I’m really sorry.” His pause makes it clear that uncomfortable is an understatement, but neither of them knows what word to place there.

She tries to brush it off. “It’s fine, Reid. Really, it is. This isn’t the first time we’ve done something like this.” It is however, the first time they’ve had to be quite so physical with each other. There’s no reason for him to come apologizing though, it wasn’t his fault. The blame belongs solely to Ronald Horton.

“It’s not fine, though. What happened wasn’t okay. And I am so sorry for hurting you.”

“I had to hurt you too,” she says. Not as much. But neither of them were able to consent to what was done to them.

“I just… I feel bad.” He sighs and looks down at the floor. Conversation between them has never felt so strained. “Doing this, it’s embarrassing,” Reid mumbles.

The awkwardness she feels turns to anger, to hurt. Perhaps it was her that he had a problem with before, not the situation itself. After months of friendship, the idea of being with her is somehow abhorrent to him, and when she likes him so much, that knowledge is like a punch to the face. “If you’re so embarrassed by me, maybe you should stop agreeing to go undercover with me,” she retorts, starting to storm away from him. She’s too tired to deal with this.

“Y/L/N!” he cries. When she doesn’t stop, a strong hand grabs her wrist, pulling her back. “Y/N. Please, wait. That’s not what I meant. There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s me. You always have to pair up with me, and I don’t want to embarrass you. I’m sorry I-” He’s cut off by her mouth on his, kissing him hard. Like she means it. Because she does.

“That’s how you think I feel about you?” she gasps, when he pulls away. “Why do you think it’s so easy for me to pretend? Why do you think I never complain about the assignment? I like being with you. And I really like you.”

“You do?” Positively astonished, he is.

“Spencer, I love you. God, I love you so much. How can you not see that? If anything, you should be the one embarrassed by me.” He’s so smart, so good-looking.

“That would be impossible,” he says. Reid takes her hands in his, taking half a step towards her. He’s so tall, looming over practically, but his eyes are kind. Then he leans down to kiss her again. The depth of it surprises her, when he slips his tongue into her mouth. In response she bites his bottom lip gently, enticing a sigh from him.

“Is this okay?” he asks.

“I want to feel like I have a choice again in who touches me and how,” she answers. “And I want it to be you.”

It occurs to her they could be moving too fast, but when he moves his hands to her hips and she tangles her fingers in his hair, she decides she doesn’t care. After all, they’ve been dating for months. Fake-dating albeit, but every lie has a bit of the truth in it. And besides, it just feels too good to stop.

“I don’t think it’s quite fair,” she manages to find the air to say, “that you’ve seen me undress, but I haven’t seen you.” Her words give him pause, and Y/N reaches up to loosen his tie, pulling it away before starting on his shirt. The row of buttons is slowly undone, slower than is necessary. She wants to savor this, steadily revealing more of him as she goes. Reid shrugs out of his shirt, and she trails a hand down his torso, his skin warm beneath her fingertips. Feeling a little bolder, she places her lips on his neck, working her way down to his collarbone. Every soft moan spurs her on, until he captures her lips once more. It’s so good to finally touch him this way, to be touched by him. No instructions or unsubs or commands here. There’s only a warm room, dim light, and movements making up for lost time.

He’s pressed so close to her, close enough that she can feel him, hard against her. This has been so long in the making, she’s not surprised it doesn’t take long before he’s aroused. Especially not after all of the early physical stimulation between them. She’s feeling quite excited herself, the room too warm, her heart beating too fast, falling faster than she can keep up with. This man before her is like no one she’s ever met before, and she can’t remember loving someone as much as him. Needing someone as much as him. Reid’s hands slide up her sides until they find hold on the zipper of her dress. “Let’s get you out of that dress,” he murmurs.

This is how it was always supposed to be. Nothing about this is rough or difficult. In this hotel room, he is incredibly gentle with her, though his previous hesitation is gone. He knows what he wants now, they both do, and they’ve both given permission for it to happen. In a way, it’s like they are reclaiming every gesture they were forced to perform. These touches, theses feelings don’t belong to Ronald Horton. They belong to the two of them, tangled up together as they slowly explore the geography of the body. The fear is gone, wholly absent from their frantic exchanges. Love, desire, need, fills the place of that uncertainty and awkwardness.

He hurries to undo his belt, step out of his trousers. Taking full advantage of the opportunity, she teases the bulge in his boxers as he continues to find new places on her skin to place his lips, his tongue, his teeth. She tries to bite back a groan, knowing that walls are never quite as thick as they appear. Eventually she pulls him down the bed with her, and it takes only seconds before there’s no layers left between them. Just him, just her, just now.

It is even better than she’d imagined it would be. Spencer proves that he excels in every endeavor, this being no exception to the rule. It’s beautiful, the way he looks at her. How she wishes she had his eidetic memory, so as not to forget a single sensation. And when she calls out his name, when he answers with her own, nothing in the world has ever sounded so right. It seems over too soon, but they find themselves both breathless between the sheets, utterly delirious with joy. His hair is messier than usual, her face is flushed, but neither can stop staring at the other. Like stars in the night sky, it’s so hard to look away from something so wonderful.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he tells her. “I have been since the day it snowed in October, and you started a snowball fight with me on our way out of the office.”

“You lost horribly,” she says, laughing at the memory. Reid had been stunned by the unseasonably cold weather, and after hearing that he’d never had snow days growing up in Vegas, she promptly lobbed a snowball at his back. The ensuing war had been short, marked by short ceasefires so she could attempt to demonstrate proper snow packing techniques. As a term of surrender, he’d bought her hot chocolate, and the day was among her favorite memories of their friendship. This night would certainly have its own place in the rankings.

Spencer simply brushes her hair back, smiling at her. “I think I won, in the end.”

“Isn’t this technically against the rules?” she asks, thinking she should’ve read those fraternization policies a bit more closely.

“Mmm, probably. I suppose that makes us… what is it Garcia always calls us?”

“Partners in crime,” Y/N laughs. “I never thought that would be so true.” It’s absolutely worth it, she decides, because, “I love you, too.”

-

At breakfast the next day, Spencer seems visibly happier, and she can’t help but feel delighted at well. Once or twice she swears she catches Morgan looking at them funny, but she brushes it off. The older agent walks over to Reid and whispers something to him that makes their resident genius turn as pink as a pair of Garcia’s heels. Y/N is hoping things are still okay, until Morgan catches her on her way out the SUVs.

“Congratulations on finally breaking all that sexual tension. I thought you two were never going to get a clue. But hey, I guess life imitates art?” She’s tempted to slap the smirk off his face, but then Derek adds, “Thin walls, Y/L/N. But don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

[firstdatedaisy]

Do Not Disturb

I went out of town with Gold Coast Guy. It was horrible. I could walk you through everything that made the trip so bad but I will spare you having to buy a new phone after you accidentally throw yours out the window in anger. Here are the highlights:

Mansplaining 

“You have to press the button to get the ticket in the parking lot.” - My response: “I’m sorry do you think this is my first time in a parking lot?”

“You have to press the button to call the elevator.” - My response: “I did.” 

Control Issues

 He told me to drive the speed limit even though he chilled in the left lane the whole time picking music on his phone, making people pass in the right lane and not understanding the directions that were displayed and being said to him. I still had to tell him where to go and which exits to take and he still didn’t believe anything or anyone except his own brain. At one point I yelled at him saying “DUDE, drive 50 more feet and turn right around that building. Do it. Now.” 

He told me he would let me play my music when I drove because he didn’t like my music. *cue 3 hours sitting in silence while he listened to his music even though we had made a playlist together for the trip. 

When the GPS stopped working when we were in our hometown I told him I knew where I was and would get is back. He checked his GPS multiple times and just started clicking everything on the dash to get the navigation person to stop talking. I asked him to trust me to get us home safely. 

While I was driving he reached over and turned on the windshield wipers. Yeah. I had to explain how the drivers area is my area and he can ask if he wants the window clean. 

He told me to drive in the same lane the whole way back. 

He told me I didn’t have to wear a mask because Ohio has no mask mandate and if I wear my mask no one can see my face. 

He told me not to talk to homeless people or give them money because they won’t spend it on “good” things. 

He tried to give me permission to drink wine. 

He didn’t want to do anything I recommended and then told me he was board. 

He wouldn’t believe me when I told him e-cigs have nicotine in them, but he would believe google. 

He wouldn’t believe me when I told him there are women athletes who can dunk as good as Lebron, but he believed 3 men when I crowd sourced the question. 

He wouldn’t tell me the plans and just expected me to follow him blindly in this new city. 

General Bullshit

He smoked his e-cig in the hotel room even though I told him I had quit smoking almost 6 years ago. 

He refuses to go down on me but expects me to suck his dick. That didn’t last long. 

He accused me of asking “political” questions. Questions like “What did you think of the Tinder Swindler?” “Why do you put a high importance on financial gain?” 

He asked me “Why do you hate your country?” and when I started to respond he interrupted me and said it was a rhetorical question. (I don’t hate America, by the way)

He was too tired to make conversation with me at the bar but then had a full blown conversation with the Lyft driver. 

Every time I asked what led him to his opinion on something or how he learned about the avocado shortage that is happening right now or like why he thinks Gary is a shit town - he would tell me to google it. 

This “man” took me to his hometown and had to google how to get to everywhere. Including the bar that was DOWN THE BLOCK and we could see the sign. I could have helped but like I said above, he wasn’t sharing any plans.  

He got off on a random exit saying we were going to Taco Bell for breakfast (thanks for asking I would like some coffee but hey, fuck what I want) and when I looked it up there was no Taco Bell for 50 miles. He told me I was wrong and then he looked it up and got the same results. We went to McDonalds. 

He didn’t go see his parents. Turns out a week ago he found out they got Covid but didn’t tell me until we were an hour out of Cincinnati. I asked him why he didn’t tell me he said “Why does it matter I’m telling you now.”...............So we went on this trip for no reason. 

He doesn’t listen at all. 

He never cooks and orders delivery for every meal- in real life, not just on vacation. 

Moving forward: I will not be seeing him again. 

My catch phrase for the weekend was - “Hey guess what, I’m going to do whatever the fuck I want to do. “

His catch phrase for the weekend was - “I don’t know, google it.”