#violence is never the answer kids… except when it is… which is this case

[typicalopposite]

Idk who I wanna see put Gerrard in his place (verbally or physically idk yet) more… Bobby or Tommy…

Or Buck

Or Chimney

Or Eddie

Or Hen

Or Ravi… ooooo that one would be fun to see

Or idek some random bystander who is watching him berate his team at a scene and is like this dude really just sucks… imma tell him

I don’t care I just need to see him get his comeuppance on screen this time!

[januaryembrs]

JUST A THEORY | Spencer Reid x Reader

Request: congratulations on 2k!!! you deserve that and so much more your writing is incredible! 🥳🥳🥳 if I could jump in with a request could I ask for a Spencer x reader fic where the reader is a journalist/reporter looking into a case as well and they cross paths? I think the tension and bickering would be so fun

Description: There's something about that agent Jennifer brought along with her that pushes every single one of your buttons

Length: 1.6k

warnings: general cm violence, probably not em's best work

“You know this could be considered obstructing a federal investigation,” Spencer huffed, trying to look over your shoulder where you skimmed the book in your hands with meticulous eyes. You ignored him, continuing to read the information despite feeling his burning glare in the back of your head, his breath on your neck as he shadowed your figure around the building. 

“You know the best part about a public library, Doctor Reid? It’s public,” You drawled back, your eyes never ripping from the page except to make a few notes of some key information for your article, “Which means I have every right to be in here just as much as you do,”

You heard him run a hand over his face and tried not to smirk at how easy he was to agitate. You’d heard a lot about the BAU, almost every criminology based paper in Virginia had, and so it wasn’t too surprising to meet the brains behind the reputation when three women had been murdered in the FBI’s home town. Every press association that was worth their money was all over the story, ‘How could this have happened so close to the capital in a city crawling with agents?’, which made your job just that bit more competitive and taxing. 

Yet luckily for you, you knew exactly where to go snooping for answers. It just so happened, the BAU’s resident genius did too.

“I guarantee it would be easier for both of us if you just give me the book first. I can read ten times faster than you,” He snipped, still a pup at your heels where you wandered through the aisles of non-fiction, the white lettering hanging above the shelves spelling PSYCHOLOGY. You rolled your eyes at his persistence, ignoring his attitude as you rounded the corner at the end of the row and looped back to where you’d picked up the book, the man still over your shoulder. 

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you you’re not supposed to talk in libraries?” You hissed back, flicking the page over and hearing his footsteps move in tandem with your own, “I guess you’re just going to have to wait and let the professionals work,” 

You hid a grin, hearing him pause at that, remembering the first day you’d been assigned the story. 

It started only a week ago. The newest victim had been found in the woods, stabbed seven times the same as the other two, her entire body washed in strong bleach, her hair and nails trimmed and ears even swabbed clean. You’d managed to get five minutes to sit with her parents, your pen and trusted notebook at the ready. 

“Why don’t you tell me about what Clara was like as a kid?” You said softly, eyes comforting and calm as you spoke over coffee that was quickly going cold. But you didn’t care. 

You didn’t do this part for ‘the story’. At least not the end of the story, the gory bits and pieces that the other news anchors focused on, how the women were brutalised and beaten, changed by a murderer until they looked unrecognisable. You didn’t like to focus on that, because that wasn’t who the victims were. 

You wanted to tell their story. Who they were before something awful happened to them. 

“She loved to dance,” Clara’s mother, Gwen, sniffled, her cheeks sodden with salted tears. Her voice quivered, croaked like it begged not to be used, but the saddest smile spread on her face when she said it, her husband’s hands clasped tightly in her own, “She used to ask to wear her leotard to bed; we couldn't get that thing off her,” 

You smiled, eyes falling to the pictures the parents had spread across the table in their haste to find the best one for the missing posters. Gwen seemed to follow your eyeline and grabbed one in particular, handing it over to you, gently thumbing the edges like that too might disappear. A little girl, black hair as silken as fresh ink stared back at you, her hands poised delicately above her head like the professional ballerina’s you'd seen on TV, her feet laced into pink pumps. The way she should be remembered, not the images you’d seen of her at the crime scene. 

You opened your mouth to speak again when two agents entered the room. Jennifer Jareau, who you’d worked with on multiple stories like this one to give the families the empathy they deserved, smiled at you civilly, somewhat guilty knowing she was stepping on your toes. Beside her stood a taller man in a matching FBI jacket, his hazelnut curls falling over his frown. 

“Mr and Mrs Townsen,” He addressed the couple solemnly, who looked up at him through red rimmed eyes, their sockets sallow and empty, “We need to ask you a few questions about the last few days you saw Clara before she went missing,”

He flashed his credentials in his right hand, long enough for them to see it was real, and looked to you with a stern stare. 

The couple glanced back to you, the picture still grasped tightly in your fingers, as you flicked a tight look between Jennifer and the new agent carefully. 

“Just one moment,” You told the grieving parents softly, handing the picture back to Gwen, standing to move to one side with the analysts, immediately turning towards Jennifer with confusion, “I thought you said I had until twelve?”

“I’m sorry, I wouldn’t interrupt if it wasn’t important,” The liaison said cordially, the two of you somewhat acquaintances after emailing back and forth for so long. She liked that you didn’t see the bodies as dollar signs, and you liked that she wanted the same as you; to tell the victims stories the way they should be told. 

Sighing, you wrapped up your notepad, delicately pushing the pen through the wire spine. “Can I get an interview with the second family at least? Daily Press was all over that story, and they made an absolute joke of it,” 

“That’s a little hypocritical of you,” The other agent piped up, and your head snapped to him. Eyes roving over his figure, brows furrowing when you realised what he’d said. You looked back to his face in annoyance. 

“Excuse me?” You snipped, crossing your arms over your chest, your notepad brushing against your ribs. 

“I’m just saying, you all get paid for what you write, so it's just as exploitive to write about the victims than it is to write about the crimes,” He shrugged, eyes narrowing when you shifted your weight onto your other foot and raised a brow at him. 

“Unlike you,” Your gaze fell to his badge he still had to hand, “Doctor Reid, I see those women as real people, not just little pictures on a white board. They’re not just dead girls to me, and they’re certainly not just money grabs,” 

Spencer went to retaliate again before JJ put a hand on both your elbows, drawing the attention away from your little spat. 

“We can talk about this later, right now we have an UnSub on the loose that is quickly devolving,” She chided the two of you like you were school children, and you sighed, biting your cheek to stop yourself from snapping back at the man. 

“What does that mean?” You asked quietly, well aware of the grieving parents sitting little more than a few yards from where you stood bickering. 

“It means you’re going to have to wait and let the professionals work,” Spencer cleared, pushing past your shoulder as he went to sit with the Townsens, his eyes swirling into something new and kind and reassuring as he looked at them, a Jekyll and Hyde to the hostility he had towards you. 

You could only suck your teeth in annoyance, before Jennifer pulled you further into the dining room to discuss rearrangements. 

Spencer blanked as he watched you skim reading the textbook, his own words thrown back in his face in an infuriatingly clever move on your part. With little more to say, knowing wit and barking orders would get him nowhere because he couldn’t exactly arrest you for not giving him public property, he resorted to begging.

“Please, give me the book,” He said, the desperation buried in his sigh, and you swivelled on your heels, a devilish grin on your face that had him fighting back an eye roll. 

“Oh, would you look at that? I’m finished,” You said, handing him the files you were reading, passing them over to him with a smirk and he found himself almost smiling at your sarcasm.

Taking the book out of your hand, he debated saying thank you, but instead bit his lip because he'd found you were somewhat incorrigible when you were getting deeper in a story. 

Turning on his heels to check out the book so he could take it back to headquarters, he stopped when you spoke, just a few decibels louder than the ‘Talk Quietly’ sign demanded. 

“Agalmatophilia,” You murmured, and he whipped a look over his shoulders where you were skimming the shelves for a second textbook, seeing as your first one had been commandeered, “The sexual attraction to dolls and mannequins. I know you guys speculated he has some form of OCD but I think it's Agalmatophilia,” You said, drawing a book off the shelf without really looking up to where his brow furrowed in familiarity with the word. He glanced at you then, and you flicked open the page of contents, feeling his eyes boring into the side of your head, muttering under your breath absent-mindedly, “Just a theory,” 

You’d shut him up the entire way back to headquarters. 

[graysonshmayson]

FAQ- OP has offered the following info for context:

Ok part of me wanted to let this all slide, but I think some more context could be helpful!

Please take yourself and everyone else in your family to therapy?

Oh trust me, this is our behavior as medicated, therapy-going individuals, although my dad hasn’t gone to therapy consistently since he was young. Getting J to do anything that involves talking about how he feels usually involves threats of violence. 

Why is NO ONE ELSE helping your dad? 

No one can. He doesn’t really form close relationships. His closest friendships are his coworkers and he still keeps them at arm's length when it comes to personal things. SUPER hard boundaries, and he can be really scary so it's impossible to push it. Other than that, he has no family and lives alone now except for 2 of us kids and our grandpa. Our grandpa is an angel and tries to help him but ultimately my dad is so stubborn it's hard. He’s a lifesaver though, and helps a lot in connecting us to our dad and putting him in his place when he needs it. 

How many kids does your dad need? And why are they working in the company?

Well, his only biological kid is D! But there’s a lot of us and the official count is 6. He really has a soft spot for helping kids, though, because of his own experiences and so we’re kind of a haven for wayward teens. He mentors a lot of people, and they idolize him and want to help out. If he didn’t let them, they would try anyway, and that would be dangerous for everyone. Our family doesn’t end or start with blood. 

How the hell did T get involved at 14?

There’s not much of a way to say this that doesn’t sound weird, but he just started hanging around him until he got the position. I’m not going to take any slander when it comes to this, my dad is absolutely not a creep, T was just incredibly stubborn. He was getting in harm's way, so my dad decided to employ him so he was at least in charge. T’s dad was involved in an accident, and my dad took pity on him and got more involved. They were a good team. When T’s dad died, it only made sense to adopt him. 

Why not get custody of D?

I had quite a few people ask me this, and the short answer is that I didn’t want to. I have no interest in taking D away from his father, even if I disagree with his parenting sometimes. D has lost enough family, and it would only serve to destroy my relationship with both of them. My grandfather had custody of D, but he was getting up there in age, so I stepped in to help. 

Why didn’t your dad adopt you?

This was a resounding response to all of my posts, saying that I don’t owe him anything and have no legal ties to the family, so I should get out of there while I still can. The truth is, I was furious after my parents died. Even when my dad took me in, I ran away all the time, I got into fights, and I didn’t want him controlling me. I was spiraling, and I didn’t like being spoken down to, especially by him because he was absent due to his work. He thought that if he treated me as an equal instead of a child, I would respond to him better, which isn’t super wrong. Me working in the company helped us bond, and develop a mutual respect. I think he was afraid of ruining that and I know he was afraid of asserting himself as a father. When I was younger, it felt like he just didn’t want to be my dad. Sometimes I felt like I was a charity case he took on for himself, more than for me. I asked him why when I grew up, and he told me that he didn’t want to look like he was trying to replace my parents. He wanted to respect their place in my life and told me that it never meant he didn’t see me as his son. He didn’t want to come on too strong, and was too emotionally constipated to ask me how I felt about it. He recognized his mistake and fixed it, but I was too old to be legally adopted by then. I don’t even call him Dad most of the time (pretty much none of us do), but we still see him that way. 

How did J come back to life?

Basically we didn’t have the right body, and it turned out he survived and was hanging out with some shady circles for years before he came back. Probably plotting his revenge considering how dramatic he was when he came back. He’s pretty much fine, now though. Still a little shady but not committing as many crimes. He’s a good person when it comes down to it, just angry.

[dykepulpfriction]

Thoughts on aftg/star trek?

oh god. so many!

vulcan andrew. he fits the mold pretty well, except for the violence. I could see him similar to spock in that case, a half vulcan, which would add to the way hes kind of seen as an unpredictable character by the upperclassmen -- working with the idea that people who are both terran and vulcan dont fit perfectly into easy behavior stereotypes. im thinking a lot about the pocket book "mindshadow" where spock's "inconsistencies" get expored. in an aftg to tos recast, id put him as spock.

that brings me to neil, who i think in said recast is a really solid kirk. There's this one tumblr post by @/na-nanu talking about kirk's alienation, and one line that has stuck with me ever since i read it: "Kirk, while personable, is a fairly Vulcan human." this strikes me as so so neil. until they really get to know him better, the upperclassmen tend to read neil in opposition to andrew. neil, to those outside, is the more personable of the two, the one who feels. as we all know, neil and andrew are incredibly similar -- which is why i referenced that quote just now. like kirk, neil takes andrew as he is, and never asks for more than he can give.

more kirk qualities: neil is ride or die (literally) for his team, self-sacrificing and quick-witted. he's not afraid to lie or trick his way into getting what he wants. lets be honest, both of these men love a good ruse.

going back to andrew for a moment, the way andrew is talked about as unfeeling and monstrous rings a very similar bell to the way terrans talk about vulcans and their lack of emotional display. kirk can read spock better than anyone, sound familiar?

this gets its own bullet point because i dont know where to put it. not all of my thoughts on aftg/st are so matchy-matchy (like, trying to make things line up), but i think the episode "The Enemy Within" and Neil-Nathaniel-Only-One-Of-Them-Can-Survive-Both-Of-Them-Want-To-Live have got some interesting similarities. Nathaniel dying in that basement too, and such.

I feel like people might want to cast Kevin as McCoy, because of McSpirk, and how they're the main trio. but because of Spock and Bones' frequent disagreements, similarities, and general vibes i really see him as Aaron, who's more explosive then Kevin when it comes to Andrews apathy. Bones and his wife and kid back home are also kind of Katelyn-esque.

renee and uhura... i think that this parallel works if spock/andrew, vulcan andrew what have you, is at the core of this thing. theres a lot of similarities for everyone, but god. he's the reason i'm even thinking about tos and aftg together. the "unlikely" friendship, everyone thinking they have a thing, bonding over a shared activity (but its music instead of beating the shit out of each other)

i can really imagine andrew getting into star trek. its a really good "what if?" show that i think he'd enjoy, given his feelings on the zombie apocalypse. renee could definitely get into the morality aspect as well. i can see them talking about the questions in the epsodes, like "so what would you do if your evil clone tried to take over the ship?" and the like. Andrew seeing himself in Spock, seeing someone who also can only deal with his emotions on the lowest volume, and him being loved nonetheless. Maybe seeing a little bit of his not-boyfriend-nothing Neil in Kirk.

another thing about spock/andrew. they are both surprisingly open! I'd have to go back and look to find the exact post, but someone made a great post about how kirk is actually not that forthcoming about his past/life, while spock, if you literally just ask him, will tell you a lot! this i think is hilariously similar to neil being seen as the more open one, when he is actually so cagey and full of false pasts, while andrew will answer most questions. people just never seem to ask (until neil, ofc).

There's definitely more where this came from, so ill add on to this later, but im battling a bit of a headache right now and need to end it here. Thank you so so much for the ask, im excited to hear what you think!!!!!!!!

[sneezemonster15]

I saw recently someone post a screenshot of a woman's video that read "my husband came out as gay after 20 years of together" and the screenshot poster said it's extremely cruel to waste 20 years of someone's life and pretend to be in love with them when they could find someone who actually loves them, "if you're gay and in the closet then just be single, you don't have the right to ruin someone else's life" tbh I don't know what to think, I mean I don't feel bad for Sakura and Hinata because they are selfish assholes, but about real people… I would genuinely think I had wasted my life too if my spouse suddenly told me they were never in love with me, and forever have trust issues. But I feel bad for gay men too. Or are women who end up with gay men a specific, gullible type

Except that in conservative societies where heteronormativity is institutionalised and homosexuality is criminalized, the conditions for straight women and gay men aren't the same. Closeted gay men are closeted for many reasons. Institutional punishment, ostracization, disenfranchisement. That cannot be compared with a straight woman whose feelings got hurt. I am not invalidating her feelings, but it's like comparing apples and oranges. It is unfortunate that she lived with a person who basically lied to her for 20 years but it's different from a man who has been living a lie his entire life. It's a kind of violence one can't imagine unless one has gone through something similar. Denying your identity is like denying your existence. Besides, Hinata and Sakura aren't unaware. Sakura for sure knows the nature of Sasuke and Naruto's relationship, and to a large extent, I think Hinata does too. But it suits them to ignore it as long as they are getting what they want. At least in their case, they don't come off as the hurt party. They are the ones who are benefiting from it, having trophy husbands, which is what they always wanted. If they really wanted to do something about it, they would have.

Also, I think most people talk at each other. Not with. If you really pay attention to the other person, what they say, how they say it, if you pay attention to their body language, you can tell a lot about a person. Or get some solid ideas to follow through at the least. A better part of communication is non verbal. It's very useful too. There's a lot of information to be gleaned and used later. It would be pointless to expect that Hinata and Sakura would know to do all that. Otherwise they would have been better shinobis too lol.

It's not that easy to stay in the closet and remain unattached, I know that in many countries, in joint families, no matter what, you gotta get married when the elders say so. You can't come out and you can't say no. There are other obligations too, people's lives are complex. I don't think a gay man would feel so compelled to get married to a straight woman if he had the freedom to choose and express his sexuality without stigma or prejudice.

Also love does not always have to be sexual. There have been many gay men in the past who married women, sired kids even, and yet, respected their wives, mothers of their kids. Of course, in their case, the wife knew the truth. Thomas Savage, for example. Like I said, people's lives are complex. It's not that black and white. There can be love between a gay man and a straight woman without it having to be sexual. There can be mutual love and respect, if they are both open with each other. If they aren't, they should look at the reasons why rather than playing blame games. If separation is the answer, then so be it.

[hallibahar]

Adessa & bb!Callista shenanginans

for @lorata

It's like 6am in here but the brainrot is strong and unstoppable which started up as my ramblings about how bb Calli and Adessa met then it evolved into a mini-fic and honestly, we stan two unapologetic, cross-generation murderesses.

Click for absolutely questionable morals

The girl in front of her door is unimpressive with blood soaked up to her elbows and a maniacal look in her eyes. She is new here, Adessa knows this, everyone knows this, they all watched the last days of the 41st to see who was the newest murder-child that will be reborn out of violence and as much as she appreciates a good torture, her appreciation is limited at the ones skills to get away with it—and this girl right here, Callista, is a living proof of it.

Not that any new babies will know how to skin the skin off and get out of the crime scene without leaving a clue behind. It’s sad, but a force of infancy in the end, so Adessa doesn’t dwell on that.

They weren’t introduced to one another yet, but according to that all-teeth-but-no-mirth smile of hers, she already knew who she was, which house she lived in and few key things about her to suggest such an undergrad suggestion to her.

“Go to your mentor.” says Adessa after a well-calculated minute. This winter was the hottest they experienced so far, not a single snowflake on sight thus leaving the children to go wild and do the dumbest things out of sheer boredom.

(Odin, a few days ago, tried to congratulate her birthday by playing a round of chess with her then had the audacity to look insulted when Adessa said she only plays with the intellects that will challenge her, not the ones that use their brains to feed the snails.)

But this one right here, a mere girl who thought she knew everything about killing just because she ripped about bodies and feast on it, tops the cake.

Callista tilts her head, that damn smile never falling, and she narrows her eyes, a failed attempt to scare off a woman who dissected a person on live when the new Victor who probably  couldn’t even read yet at the time. “No,” she says. “I said help me, so you will.”

Adessa raises a brow and tilts her head as well, if this little girl wants to play then she will. “The only person who is assigned to help you is your mentor.” she answers, seemingly calm. “A poorly done job so far as I can see, but trust your elder and go to her.”

Now, this seems to start to annoy the fussy one. Sweet. “And what? So she could ground me once again?”

“Only solution to your murderous outbursts, as far as I’m concerned—which is none.” She reaches for the door knob to close it but a heel gets in between and stops the motion.

“I don’t care what important thing going in your life to not to get me out of this mess—”

“--a lot of things actually, dear. Grown up jobs.”

Callista ignores her as she continues. “--but allowing another fellow murderer to go to prison like a common criminal is not fair in your case.”

Adessa shrugs. “Well, you do act like one.”

Callista breathes out slowly, expression calm but dangerous and oh, it seems like someone will have an outburst yet again and Adessa prepares herself for that lovely scene—except it doesn’t happen. The younger woman squares her shoulders up slightly and grins yet again and huh, now things are getting interesting.

 “Well,” she says after a moment. “It still doesn’t change the fact that some asshole out there is bleeding in some high-class hospital because of a new Victor, a one from Two at that, which would massively affect our, your, future mentorships if you don’t rid me of this. So many kids you helped to raise in that damn Centre just because you decided to ignore me. So…you in or what?”

Adessa doesn’t answer, just stares at the newest Victor like she found a new potential, a promising one at that—unlike Odin who was just too scared to raise a single eyebrow at her let alone his voice. “Well, your first mistake was to admit the body to the hospital.” Adessa says and something shines in Callista’s dark eyes. 

--

Hera is at her door a few days later as predicted and her expression is the one from a statue, stone cold yet passive.“Did you know?”

Which one? Adessa thinks. The fact that your Victor slashed open a sponsor or the fact that I helped her to cover it up for Games’ sake? “Is the thing you want to talk about worthy enough to make me stay in front of my door at the dawn of the day?”

Hera purses her lips at that, probably resisting an eye roll and honestly, Adessa can’t blame her for that. “You decide. Is the fact that the sponsor, who got murdered by my own Victor, the brother of the new President?” she asks and Adessa’s gaze sharpens.

(“Tell me about the details,” Adessa asked as they sat down on her couch. “Did you know who he was or he just was your first trial?”

Callista waits for a second and nods, meaning yes. “Wanted to play the hero for once, I suppose.”)

“Oh. That’s unfortunate.”

Hera looks at her as if she confessed that she carries the organs of the last tribute she dissected on the Arena in her body. “You don’t particularly seem surprised by it, may I ask why?”

Adessa almost grins at that, almost, but now she has to continue the small game Callista started. “Well, Snow is a new face, it is normal for a girl who got blinded by bloodlust wanted to intimidate him to cause us no harm. It’s a normal reaction from a curious girl, I would assume.”

(“Curiosity can also be channelled by doing morally good things like research or doing some form of art.” Iris had said one day, sipping on her tea on a lovely afternoon. “And no, torture doesn’t counts.” she adds with a small, dark smile, reminding Adessa why she still tolerated her disturbingly decent hearted mentor.)

Hera sighs. “It's a good narrative, but still risky.”

(“You think they will believe it?” Callita asks, slightly unsure underneath her skin but nothing comes to surface. Good enough. 

“People will believe what they want to believe.” Adessa waves a hand. “All you have to do i to give what they want to hear.”)

“Tell your Victor to behave then.” Adessa says bluntly. “I know, with no experience from myself means nothing to you, but perhaps she will listen if you give a serious one-on-one talk to her.”

“And what if it doesn’t?”

(Callista nods. “And if it doesn’t, I will just try harder until they do so.”)

Adessa shrugs. “It will if you try hard enough, she still is a human and has 206 bones and numerous systems under her skin. As unruly as she is, she will listen to you if she really wants to continue to thrive.”

(Just don’t let it happen again, dear.” Adessa says. “And we have a deal.”)

--

Darkest consequences, Adessa had learned through many hardships in the mentor station, haunts after most vicious lies.

 Her brand new Victor, Nero, is a living proof at that which only meant one thing—Coriolanus knew. He always knew who was behind the murder of his brother but still played along with it, looked her in the eye and insisted that she must try again to mentor in 42nd as well, even though it would be three in a row.

And here she is now, watching her boy getting crowned out of the Arena which offered nothing; no weapons, no good memories, no healing—just pain but he is alive, at least, he won’t be a corpse even if he was intended to be one by a frenemy of hers.

There is no coincidence in Panem and no good ending for the tributes who got the short end of the stick, so Callista also being here as an observer is a sweet twist in Snow’s bloody game.

 Now, as the trumpets echo through the screens, Callista turns to her, smile as sharp as the non-existent knives in her boy’s Arena and eyes as hard as the rocks he had smashed brains with. “Don’t worry,” she says. “I will remember to do your tricks when he comes up at my door, covered in blood.”

“We will see about that.” she recites without looking a second away from the screen, because this moment here is the closure of what they had done, and she has no intention to let Snow win this.

[aspd-culture]

Do you have books/movies recommendation that represents aspd well fiction or nonfiction?

Hhhhh I was waiting for this question to come one day. The answer is lowkey v v disappointing.

Because... no, not really. I've got like three, two of which do what I consider a fairly good job, and one that rides the fence of being a lil "oh great, the ASPD character likes blood and guts and death".

Sorry this is so long-winded tldr Ender's Game (book only), House, MD if you can handle some not ok 2000's comedy, and Wednesday if you never get into the fandom.

In order of, in my opinion, best to least best (they're all still p good):

I tried to make these spoiler free but it's hard while explaining good vs bad rep. I would recommend going into Ender's Game blind without reading what I wrote about it and coming back to this post after. I would read the warning attached to the other two.

Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card (The book not the movie, oh my gosh, not the movie) - Peak ASPD right here. When I was a kid with ASPD, this is the only book I ever related to and I randomly picked it bc it was the third name on the mandatory summer reading list and 3 is my OCD's favorite number. It rarely lets me down, and in this case, brought me a seriously well-done look at ASPD done, possibly entirely without meaning to. Orson Scott Card, as far as I'm aware, set out to write a book about trauma and the way that different types of trauma shapes the mind in early childhood, and preschool aged children engaging in active military training is... woof. It's a lot when something that you relate to so much is a depiction of a war-era dystopia. There are definitely parts that still push the stigma, and a lot of what makes Ender "good" is the sympathy and compassion and "purity" he shows, so be ready for that. That said, this also shows how a kid can still fit the definition of a loving, innocent child even while actively engaging in violence. It's a bit preachy with its message, but it is a damn good book. I will openly admit I have never gotten around to reading the sequels purely bc they were not in my school libraries. I wonder if Libby has them... *takes mental note*. There are also questions about if Ender's siblings possibly have cluster b disorders themselves. I have seen theories that both Peter and Valentine have NPD, and a more controversial theory that Valentine has NPD while Peter has BPD and the book just happens to focus on demonizing him (as a character to make a point about him and Valentine, not because of the disorder) so it doesn't emphasize the non-splitting behavior. Just, do yourself a favor and don't read into psych articles about Ender's Game. They make a big deal out of Ender being a good character because he is "saved" by his empathy and just... idk the book is written from his POV and I don't see much empathy there. I see compassion. I see cognitive empathy. I do not see affective empathy besides with a couple Exceptions.

House, MD - the profile pic is for a reason. More than House, MD is a show about doctors or medicine, it is a show about House's struggle with his mental health. We watch him slowly get through the process of recognizing, adapting to, and working on his symptoms throughout the show. It honestly helped me before I even realized I had ASPD to improve my relationships with people by learning from his mistakes.

House is (minor spoiler) canonically diagnosed with "Antisocial traits" around season 6 I believe, but he experiences them the entire time. He is written as a character who I believe was supposed to have ASPD. If not, he is one of the most accurate accidents turned canon I have ever seen. That said, this show does not shy away from the negative aspects of ASPD. Many people say horrible things about House throughout the series, many of them he does not bother to argue with or deny. It is... really emotional for me sometimes to see how they speak to and about him and how he handles that. It's really good, but does have one very triggering episode about a "true sociopath" and House's struggles with relating to her also around Season 5 or 6. It's one I wouldn't skip if you're watching this for ASPD reasons, but House *does* try and separate himself from a "true sociopath" so be ready for some stigma. Also please note that this show is from around 2004. Lots of flip phones, ha ha ha, but also lots of excess stigma on things, somewhat homophobic and transphobic jokes, etc. Although, it is worth noting that it is a symptom of House's ASPD to make these jokes - he expects that they know he is not serious because of his tone and doesn't, due to lack of empathy, understand that these jokes are hurtful even when people know you don't believe what you're joking about to be true. He builds his team around making sure they can handle that part of him, which is a pretty decent thing to do, in my opinion, even though the right thing to do would be to change the behavior. But yeah, shitty early 2000's humor incoming with this show. I still 100% feel it is worth the watch, but I am white and thus have the privilege of feeling comfortable while watching it. Black people especially may be really (understandably) unable to feel comfortable watching this because the person that House worries is most similar to him and thus most threatening to his position is Foreman, who is a Black man, and thus many of House's "it's ok because he knows I don't believe it" jokes are targetting Foreman and many times they are racist jokes. He in no way solely targets Foreman, but that is there and it is extremely frequent. When you meet people named Taub and Thirteen, Jewish and fellow LGBT people will join the club in being potentially seriously uncomfortable with these jokes. I could handle watching it, ymmv.

The third and somewhat problematic lil sister, Wednesday (2022) - Hear me out, it is so good, imo, but I cannot interact with the fandom on this one and it loses serious points because of that. The reason that I can't? The entire fandom has decided that Wednesday Addams, a long-time rare ASPD coded girl, is autistic and "through the lens of Tim Burton" vs acknowledging that she is ASPD coded. Everything that can be an autistic trait, many have cherry-picked as proof she is autistic, and they openly choose to ignore a major step in diagnosis, making sure that the symptoms are not better described elsewhere. I will concede she may be autistic (although tbh I don't think so bc of her serious lack of stimming, - and no the SINGLE DANCE SCENE AT A SCHOOL DANCE doesn't count - lack of meltdowns, and affinity for sitting perfectly still don't read autistic imo), but she has ASPD. A literal therapist talks to her about "the source of (her) antisocial traits" and because she is a child, that is the closest thing to a diagnosis of ASPD she can be given. The girl is loudly ASPD coded just like the character Wednesday Addams always has been.

Further, there is a point to be made about the ASPD coded character being given her own show for it to turn out to be a m*rder mystery as well as her obsession with everything dark, broody, bloody, and macabre. Admittedly, in The Addams Family, that's everyone in her family not just the ASPD coded one but in Wednesday, she is the only character who likes those things so it's a bit ick in that regard. Still, I relate a lot to her and always have and people used to try n bully me in school by calling me Wednesday but my mom showed me it and said I reminded her of Wednesday as a compliment when I was little and I always took it as one after that even when I knew they meant it in a mean way.

Unfortunately, ASPD, unlike many disorders, is not underrepresented in media. It is overrepresented in the worst ways possible. Every other book or movie I can find is full of stereotypes, mean-spirited commentary, and m*rder. There might be something to be said about a character from It's Always Sunny, but that show is a major trigger for me so I haven't been able to watch it to tell, and Lisa from Girl, Interrupted (book or movie) is just... painfully bad but well-loved rep. Like, I love her, but holy crap girlfriend, how did you manage to add stigma in a book and movie about destigmatizing mental health?

The fact that even counting bad but well-loved representation I can still count all of it on one hand sucks, and if anyone has more I am begging you to share in replies.

[ssahotstuff]

Lie To Me

An Aaron Hotchner x reader series

Aaron Hotchner/Ozark crossover

Part 11

Part 10 can be found here

Warnings: violence to the main character(reader) mentions of kicking, hitting, bruising, violence, crime, cursing, drinking, smut

Word count: 3.6k

Your day started normal, except for once, you were the only person at the Blue Cat. You still had an hour before the restaurant opened, so Dave hadn't even arrived yet, so you were shocked to see an SUV pulling into the parking lot. A woman and man exited the vehicle before making their way up the steps and coming inside. They looked official, so you offered them a friendly smile, coming around the bar.

"Hi, what can I help you guys with?" You offered your hand, which the man turned away from, but the woman shook it politely, her arm clutching her bag.

"I'm Helen Pierce. I'm Marty Byrde's lawyer."

You nodded, wanting to let her know quickly that you didn't have anything to do with his business.

"Marty doesn't own this place anymore, so we're not even business partners anymore. His daughter lives with me," you explained, and she nodded, the man circling you like prey before he went to lock the door.

"His son is more than friendly with you too," the man said as he approached you, his arms in front of his chest.

"Marty kept me out of everything so he'd have somewhere safe for his kids."

The man scoffed as if he didn't believe you, and before you could register his movements, he'd kicked you to the ground, and you were clutching your stomach, doubled over in pain.

"I swear! I don't know anything!"

Another blow to your legs this time, keeping away from your face, which you were grateful for. He kicked you again, expecting you to cave, but you didn't. You knew they wanted to see what you knew, so you challenged him, coughing lightly.

"You can kick my ass, but I still don't know anything," he kicked you again, grabbing your hair to pull your face towards his.

"You expect me to believe that? You're dating a fed," he shoved you to the ground, kicking you once more before the woman stopped him.

"That's enough," she said firmly, looking down at you sympathetically, but the look disappeared as quickly as it was there.

"You tell your fed we will never take his deal," the man spat, and they left you lying in the floor before the pain caught up to you and you lost consciousness.

✨✨✨

Aaron

I usually didn't answer calls from unrecognized numbers, but in this case I was glad I did. Charlotte was on the other line, sounding worried.

"What's going on?" My work day had ended earlier than usual, so I was heading home to do a bit of off the clock research on Javi Elizonndro, just to see what we were dealing with.

"Kay showed up to work and the doors are still locked. Did you drop Y/n off this morning? Her car is still here," I'd explained that I took her and something in my stomach churned, because it was unlike her to not have the restaurant up and going at this hour.

"Something's wrong," I could hear Charlotte climbing into Y/n's car, heading off to check on her.

"I'll meet you there. Do you have keys to get in?"

She told me she did and that she'd see me soon, so I squealed out of the parking lot and flew to The Blue Cat to see what was going on.

"Maybe she's in the office," Kay offered as I came to the door, looking inside for any signs of life. It was still dark inside, so I couldn't see anything. Charlotte pulled in, unlocking the door quickly, letting me rush inside. I looked everywhere, searching the office last. I couldn't see her but I could hear her soft whimpering, pained and strangled, and my heart sank as I rounded the corner and saw her sitting behind the desk, her legs riddled with bruises.

"They said they'd never take your deal," she whispered, and my worst fears materialized right in front of me when I realized they'd hurt her.

"Oh, baby. Come here," I held out my arms, crouching down to hug her tight. She was wearing jeans so I didn't know to what extent her injuries were, but she gripped me back, letting me stand her to her feet. The purple bruises on her skin sent unspeakable rage through me. This was about the deal, which I had no part in, but they'd used our relationship against her, which was always a thought in the back of my mind if something were to happen, and now it had came true.

"This isn't your fault," it was as if she'd read my mind, and of all times she was trying to comfort me now, when she was the one hurting.

"Maybe not directly, but I still play a role in this, and that's bad enough."

Charlotte came through the door, tears on her face. They only got worse when she saw Y/n, sitting on the desk, her legs on full display.

"This is because of my dad, isn't it?" She said angrily, and Y/n sighed, wiping her eyes.

"I knew what I was getting myself into when I took The Blue Cat. I knew I'd always be involved in some aspect," she told Charlotte, still defending Marty, even now.

"You can't be serious," I was seething with fury at the entire ordeal, knowing I'd have to talk to Marty and get him to explain to Javi that she was off limits if they wanted to stay out of our sights, or else I'd arrest Javi and Marty with a smile on my face.

"He couldn't have known they were going to do this," my head whipped around when she mentioned more than one person, and I was immediately asking her who else was with him. She told me the lady introduced herself as Helen, and she was Marty's lawyer, so I wasn't the least bit shocked that they'd be trying to protect the cartel at all costs, but they'd gone after someone completely innocent, and as far as I was concerned, that cancelled out any deal we'd previously worked towards.

"Baby they wouldn't have done this if you weren't so closely involved with him. Your relationship with Marty is the reason those people were here today," she didn't want to hear it, standing to her feet.

"Can you stay until I go change? I need to put on some jeans," she asked Charlotte, who was nodding her head, and as much as I didn't want to leave, I needed to talk to Marty.

"Let Kay work. Come home with me, please," it was desperate, but I needed her close after the morning she'd had; I needed to make sure I was able to keep her safe from anything else that may happen.

"I'm fine," she assured me, kissing my cheek as she left the office.

"She's handling this a lot better than she should be," Charlotte said, a concerned expression on her face as she looked back at me, silently asking me what we were supposed to do.

"I've got to find your dad and sort this out. Will you stay with her today? I'll be back as soon as I can."

She nodded, going out to the dining room so she could help. Y/n was already gone; she went to change clothes. I got in my car and pulled out my phone, dialing Marty's number.

"What?"

I cleared my throat, ready to unleash hell on him, but thought better of it until I saw him in person.

"You have twenty minutes to meet me. I'm not taking no for an answer."

He was quiet on his end of the line for a moment; I'd almost thought he hung up until he finally spoke.

"Did they hurt her?"

"You need to meet me, Marty. The deal is off. Javi won't take it," there was no way for Marty to avoid prison now. He'd have to serve time considering both people he'd lined up to take the cartel throne had fallen through for the FBI.

"I'm coming. There's a diner off 25th. Shit hole, but the coffee is okay," I told him I'd meet him there and put the address in my GPS, making the drive.

✨✨✨

Aaron

"Javi needs to know she's off limits before I move in on him myself. If he's not taking our deal, there's nothing stopping us from arresting him."

Marty nodded, sipping his coffee as he looked at me, his eyes full of sorrow. Neither of us wanted her to get caught in the crossfire; I never thought I'd be having coffee with Marty Byrde, talking about protecting the woman I love.

"I'll talk to him. He wants a deal with Wendy, with The Byrde Family Foundation, not the FBI."

It was all starting to make sense; with that much money coming in donations, Wendy was going to be making a fortune, and Javi could clean more money that way.

"You tell him there is no deal without FBI involvement, and if he doesn't want it, he can rot in prison with Omar."

Marty leaned forward, his elbows on the table.

"Javi isn't like Omar. He doesn't want to be protected. He thinks he can do more with the legitimate businesses we're building--as a partner, he'll profit greatly too, and he won't need the cartel."

We were going to lose our window of opportunity if we didn't move soon; I had no clue where Javi was now, but I'd be going to headquarters to find out, and explain what was happening.

"If they ever touch her again, I'll arrest you myself, Marty. I'm not playing games when it comes to her. She stays out of this, and if you can't guarantee that, we're done here."

He pulled out his phone, showing me that he was calling Javi.

"Javi, we have a bit of a problem."

Marty went quiet as Javi talked, and then Marty explained that he'd gone after someone who was untouchable, and it was going to ruin any chance of a deal with anyone.

"You see, she's my kid's refuge. She's in the category with my children on the level of protection she has, and you fucked that up. So if you mess with her again, you'll be sharing a cell with your uncle and you won't have a penny."

Marty smirked at whatever Javi said on the other end before hanging up the phone, sliding it back into his pocket.

"He won't be bothering her anymore."

✨✨✨

The rest of the day went by in a blur. You smiled, responded when you had to, but your mind was somewhere else entirely. Worry flooded your body, something you hadn't had up to this point, not when it came to Marty's business. You knew you were safe, but whoever this strange man was wanted you to think otherwise.

By the time Aaron came back to the Blue Cat, the day was almost over. It had gone by easily with all three of you working, but it was Saturday, and you were letting Kay and Charlotte take Sunday all by themselves. You needed a break, and Aaron was off work too, so you were going to let him take care of you. You knew he would, it was probably killing him that you refused to take the day off, but you needed the distraction.

"We did good tonight," Kay said as Aaron approached the bar, pulling you in as soon as you came to stand in front of him.

"Marty and I worked everything out. You're safe; the man that hurt you knows you're protected." You never would've guessed he and Marty joined forces, but part of you wasn't surprised--it was the only way to ensure that things got taken care of.

"Follow me home?" You asked him, and he nodded, walking you to your car, kissing you before you could close the door. He stayed behind you the whole time, making the walk over as soon as he'd parked his car. Jonah and Charlotte started on dinner while you made a cup of coffee, skipping the nightly tea since you didn't have to work the following morning.

"Did you talk to my dad?" Charlotte asked Aaron, and he nodded, silently telling her it was taken care of so Jonah wasn't alarmed.

"Everything is fine. No one has anything to worry about."

Aaron didn't get the full story from you until you were laying in bed that night, telling him what had happened, how quickly everything had taken place.

"She just watched. She stopped him after a while, but I think she knew any more would've killed me," Aaron had tried to get you to go to the hospital, but you assured him you were fine and that you didn't want to deal with the doctors and the questions.

"Marty didn't seem shocked at all. I told him if anything else happens to you, I'll take him down myself. Him and Javi both."

You were on his chest, your legs tangled together below you. You being on top of him was his favorite thing, especially now that he knew you could sleep like that.

"I'm scared. I don't like feeling like this," you buried your face in his chest, letting him kiss the top of your head as he held you close. His breathing began to steady and you thought for a moment he'd fallen asleep until he sighed, bringing his lips to your forehead once more.

"I wish there was more I could do. I wish I could take you away from all of this."

You knew if he could, he'd make it happen. Truth be told, your life was here. You couldn't just leave-- not now, when you had The Blue Cat to think about, not to mention Charlotte and Jonah. They needed you now more than ever.

"I love you, Aaron." There wasn't much else you could say--nothing would fix what had happened. You could feel the guilt that he was holding onto, and you knew he blamed himself, and no amount of telling him otherwise would make it any different. He'd continue to misplace the true fault because he saw it as his job to keep you safe from everything.

"And I love you, sweetheart. Try to get some sleep, things will be better in the morning.

When morning came, the house was quiet. Jonah was sleeping and Charlotte was already gone. She was using your car to get to work since you'd be with Aaron. You could hear his heart beating, thumping in his chest as you blinked the sleep away. You thought it would be a quiet, normal morning, but you couldn't have been more wrong.

It started with the pounding at the door. Aaron was instantly on high alert, getting up quickly and getting dressed so he could rush to your door. You got dressed and followed him, realizing it was Marty at such an early hour.

"I need you to come with me. We have a bit of a problem," Marty told Aaron, so Aaron went with a heavy sigh, promising to be back as soon as he could.  You wouldn't see him until Charlotte had already came in for the night. You were already in bed when he called, asking if you were still awake. You told him you were and he said he'd be there soon and that he'd explain everything. You made a cup of tea while you waited on him, even though the kids were already in bed. You sat on the couch and waited for Aaron to show up. He looked absolutely exhausted; you'd started your morning abruptly and you doubted if he'd slowed down all day long--he often kept going even when he was more than tired, it's just how he was.

"Darlene Snell is dead. Wyatt Langmore too," he told you, sitting on the couch with a deep exhale, leaning into you as he loosened his tie from around his neck.

"How is Ruth?"

He shrugged, laying down until his head was in your lap and you could run your fingers through his hair.

"She was pretty upset. Thought Marty had something to do with it," if Ruth thought Marty would turn on her, she was insane. Marty trusted Ruth more than he did anyone else, that's why she had been his partner from the beginning.

"Did he?"

Aaron shook his head; he wouldn't have told you if Marty was involved, but he was innocent, so he could tell you the truth. You knew Marty's sins were catching up with him and it was only a matter of time, you just hoped Aaron wasn't in the crossfire when that happened.

"Let's get you into bed," you stood up, leading him to the bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt for him before you undid his belt, getting him undressed so he didn't have to do it. He caught your arm as you slid his shirt sleeve down, his eyes staring back into yours.

"You're the sweetest. I hope you know how much I appreciate you, everything you do for me."

You kissed his chest, across his collar bone and shoulders before finally making it to his lips, letting his tongue invade your mouth as he moved you to the bed.

"Promise me we'll always have each other," you begged him quietly, and he didn't hesitate to swear it to you on his life.

Master tags: @wheelsupkels @periodtcevans @hausofwhores @criminallyobsessedcm @tojithesourcerkiller @fireworksinthesky @realdirectionx

[pearlneow]

୨୧ ꒰ asking them to choke you ! ♡ ꒱

written by a minor!! please dni if that makes you uncomfy!!

summary : yk,, asking the genshin men (gorou, venti, diluc, xiao, childe) to choke you hcs (drabbles?) <3 not the most sexy thing but not particularly sfw either

word count : abt 100 or so words per hc!!

content / warnings : fem!bottom!reader in most, choking obv, teasing (venti), cervix kissing mention (diluc), on-wall fucking? (xiao), slight dacryphilia (xiao), breeding kink mention (childe), pet names (love, darling, sweetheart, baby, good girl) sorry i love pet names

note : i got the funny thinky in the middle of class so please excuse how this looks like i pulled it out of my ass cause uhm i kinda did

✦ GOROU.

poor baby, super confused abt it cause he has precious little knowledge when it comes to kinks n the like. all that's going through his head in the moment is how good you feel spasming around him, so when he suddenly hears ur plea for him to choke you, he just. does not understand why violence? in the middle of such an intimate act?? you end up having to guide his hands to ur throat with ur own, and eventually he gives up trying to figure out why and grips it lightly, making sure he's not putting too much pressure on you. you are the thing most precious to gorou, after all! <3

♡

"haa.. l, like this - ah! - love? it doesn't hurt, d-does it..?"

✦ VENTI.

similar to gorou, venti's hesitant to actually do it at first - although he does understand it perfectly well. but he tries to the best of his ability to do it properly, as all he really wants is for you to feel happy! <33 afterwards, however, a lot of teasing would be in order - venti would absolutely sneak up behind you at the worst of times and just. grab ur neck and scare the living shit out of you. you have to drag him far away from anyone when someone asks about it because he will not hesitate to explain in great detail what happened

♡

"a-ahah.. i never would've guessed my darling enjoys such filthy things! do tell me if it's too hard, 'kay?"

✦ DILUC.

he's somewhat surprised but doesn't really show it, just goes along with it. ALSO this man wears gloves so he gets bonus points for it i love gloves i love people who wear gloves <333 diluc doesn't bother to do it particularly gently, but he does ask you from time to time whether you're still feeling okay, although half the time you can't answer properly while he's still thrusting in and out of you, his tip ever so slightly kissing ur cervix every time he bottoms out,, diluc definitely sets up a physical touch signal directly after in case it ever gets to be too much, he's a sweetheart <3

♡

"look at me, sweetheart - you're doing so well for me. - are you still feeling good?"

✦ XIAO.

XIAO DOESN'T GET IT AT ALL EITHER except he does it and really, really roughly cause he forgets how humans have frailer bodies than he does. i mean. not that you mind it. xiao's got you pinned to the wall from behind by ur wrists with one hand and the other firmly wrapped around ur throat, squeezing out pretty hitched moans from you. tears are streaming down ur face when he fills you up and releases ur neck, and whether they're from pleasure or pain you don't know!!

"haah, are you really crying right now..? i-isn't this what you asked for?"

✦ CHILDE.

you hardly even need to finish the sentence, he's already placed his hands hard around ur neck, making you squirm and gasp from the sudden pressure. he picks up his pace just then, completely overwhelming you :( childe whispers sweet praises and promises to you as you whimper, pawing at his hands in a feeble, half-hearted attempt to get him to loosen his grip - which he does slightly with a chuckle.

"d'you like this, baby? gonna fill you up with my kids real good.. such a good girl."

[kurlyfrasier]

The Mand’alor’Karta: Prelude to Beskar Kisses & Bleeding Heart

Pairing: Mand’alor!Din Djarin x Reader

Synopsis: According to legend, the Mand’alor’s other half was the only one who could make their heart beat again after taking possession of the darksaber, which keeps the Mand’alor alive until their other half is found. OR: The day Din found Reader and how Reader ended up in his employ.

A/N: I am learning that I don’t write anything in order apparently lol. This is written in 3rd person in Din’s pov. ENJOY!

Disclaimer: I do not own any Mandalorian/Star Wars anything. Legend of The Manda’lor’s Heart is my own.

Warnings: Mentions of servitude, mentions of violence, allusions to prostitution. I don’t personally know of like, any, Mandalorian traditions or legends and whatnot except for what’s in the show. Probably used Mando’a wrong, especially in the title lol. No use of Y/n, if you like that. Word Count: 3070 Mando’a:

~ Mand’alor (MAHN-dah-lor): Leader of Mandalore

~ Kar’ta (Kah-ROH-ta)

~ Mand’alor’Kar’ta (MAHN-dah-lor-Kah-ROH-ta): Leader of Mandore’s Heart

~ Hut’uun (hoo-TOON): Coward

~ Riduur (REE-door): Partner/Spouse

Pronunciations found here.

Din Djarin’s heart stopped. Literally. The moment he turned on the lasersword. He didn’t know what it meant, but he was too tired to think much of it at the time. Maybe he had finally taken it too far? Maybe his body was finally going to stop. By pure determination and will, he kept going. No time to think about it too much. He had to keep going. He needed to get Gideon away from his kid. And Bo-Katan said to leave him to her. So without further thought, he told the hut’uun to move.

The smirk on the man’s face told Din he knew something, but he would never ask. Never willingly give the man what he wanted. Still, for losing the battle, the Moff didn’t act like he lost.

Not that it mattered. Din had more important things to take care of.

***A few Standard Years Later***

Din Djarin’s heart thumped. Literally. The moment he saw you haggling with the front desk agent on Naboo, clothes looking worse for wear. He was staying at the hotel for official Mandalore business. Business he had to be present for, much to his chagrin. It was also the fanciest hotel he had ever had the pleasure of staying in, even as Mand’alor.

“I just need a room for a few nights,” you pleaded. “I can work for it. I’m a good cook-”

Ba-thump.

“Sorry, but we’re all booked for the political negotiations. A lot of important people are staying here. Don’t need any riff raff coming in to stir up trouble.”

“I wouldn’t be any trouble at all,” you sounded frustrated, speaking through your teeth, jaw muscles flexing as if you were trying to play nice. “If there’s so many important people staying, I can help! Just give me a closet to sleep in at night,” you let out a sharp exhale, head bent down and hands gripping the counter tight enough to make your knuckles whiten. “That’s all I ask.”

Ba-thump.

“Can’t- Sorr-”

“She’s with me,” Din heard his voice float up to his ears before he realized what he was saying. Both heads whipped in his direction, one staring with hopeful, confused eyes, the other in wide-eyed fear.

“S-so s-sorry s-s-sir,” the front desk agent stuttered. “I just- uh- I just n-need to-” they licked their lips, eyes glancing back and forth between you and him before finishing their sentence. “Her name. I need to get it into the system in case she loses her key.”

Din stared at you through his visor expectantly as you continued to look at him, brows scrunched in confusion. If he were a braver man he would reach up and smooth those lines away.

Seconds ticked by before you realized you needed to speak. With a start, face turning back to the front desk agent you answered them, voice so quiet Din had to turn up the volume on his helmet.

Ba-thump.

Still, it wasn’t enough to hear it over the pounding of his heart. A sound he hadn’t heard- felt- in years.

When Bo-Katan had finally (after years of chasing him throughout the galaxies fighting for the darksaber) told him the legend of The Mand’alor’Kar’ta. After she had decided he was more ally than enemy. When she had accepted he would be the Mand’alor and her new goal was to guide him. The moment she accepted him, he remembered, she was patching him up after a particularly tough bounty. Found him lying in the forest, poisoned by a simple blade sticking out of his side.

His heart was not beating.

She thought he was dead until she saw his chest expand in halting, shallow movements. 

She realized then that the legend was real. The darksaber had chosen him, not her. Never her. Bo-Katan’s heart never stopped beating during her reign so she always thought it a fairytale.

She saved his life that day and barely left his side since.

It was frustratingly annoying. It was also the main reason he agreed to fly to Naboo for this…business he had. She had to stay behind on Mandalore. And now here he was, wishing she was here to guide him like she did during his earlier reign a few years ago.

Din stepped forward when, in his peripheral, he noticed the room key shaking in the front desk agent’s hand, eyes never leaving the lady in front of him. His Kar’ta. She hadn’t looked back at him since he made himself known and that worried him, making his newly pounding heart stutter.

“Lead the way, Mesh’la,” he said, arm outstretched, allowing you to walk in front of him. Truly, he had no idea which room they were in. Completely missed that detail at the front desk, along with anything else that was spoken. That worried him too- missing details. That’s what got a person killed.

You did as bid and he surmised you must be a servant, considering the work you were offering moments ago. Which could pose a problem, but then again, you were looking for a place to stay. A quiet fury burned in his chest at the thought of an employer kicking you out of a home with nowhere to go. He vowed then and there that he would kill whoever caused you this embarrassment. He just needed you to give him a name.

Lights automatically brightened the large living space of the suite as they stepped through the doorway. You stopped two steps in, the door quietly swooshed closed as Din froze behind you, so close his chestplate would touch you if he inhaled deeper than usual.

“I don’t do,” your voice halted before you continued in a quiet tone, “...favors.”

“Favors?” Din attempted not to speak too loud, thinking it would startle you, but the modulator made that difficult, amplifying his voice. You curled your shoulders inward, a sight that made his fists curl tight to keep himself from reaching out. Comforting wasn’t normally his first instinct, but with you…. It seemed his newly beating heart would shatter if he couldn’t hold you close. Protect you. Comfort you.

“Yeah,” your shoulders raised with a deep breath as you twirled around to face him, little wisps of hair harmlessly slapping his armor. “If you think,” you barely glanced up at his T-visor before thinking better of it, eyes trained on your own reflection in the beskar. “If you think I’ll do things with- to you- or something just for a place to rest my head, then you’ve got another thing coming,” you nodded as if to say you were done and now it was his turn to say something.

Instead, he sidestepped around you, brushing against your arm as you stood your ground and allowed the silence to reign, knowing better than to tell you he’s yours if only you’ll have him. Knowing his fury would seep through if he didn’t get a better handle on his emotions. Where have you been for that to be your first thought about a stranger’s kindness? Adding to that, the bit of contact made his heart pound and goosebumps to spread. Even if he knew that as a Mandalorian he would never have much human contact unless he found a riduur, but this was beyond his imaginings. If this was what it felt like to brush by you, he didn’t think he would be able to handle skin-to-skin contact.

It was all too much. He needed space. Something to focus on. Like hunt down the bastard who kicked you out of a dry, comfortable place to stay. Who caused thoughts of favors to be the only payment for kindness. But he was worried how his heart would physically react if he wandered too far from you. Would the darksaber keep him alive like it did before he found you? Or would it continue to beat, even without you within his line of sight?

“You can have the bed,” he said, not daring to glance your way, happy the modulator hid the shake in his voice. “I’ll take the couch.”

“Wha’,” you gasped, seeming to quickly grasp that he did not plan on taking advantage of you. 

His hands relaxed at the realization. 

“I can’t allow you to sleep on the couch,” you swiftly made your way towards him, grabbing his arm and tugging him back to slip past and planted yourself on the stiff looking cushion. The voluntary contact had his blood rushing to a place he had been ignoring since Grogu came along, having no time for that pastime between running for their lives one moment and fighting the next. It took every ounce of self control he had to keep a groan from slipping past his lips. “Besides, you're probably some important dignitary or something with the negotiations going on. So you’ll need your sleep.”

“Not really,” he said, still unable to move.

“No? Then what brings you to Naboo?”

“A bounty,” the reflexive lie tasted bitter on his tongue, but he wasn’t about to tell you who he really was only a few minutes into meeting you, afraid you would scurry off or worse- start bowing.

Your eyes glinted with an all too familiar look that had his thoughts running to his son and his mischief-making. “You're awfully shiny for a bounty hunter.”

Din shrugged, forcing his muscles into action and started searching for something to keep you warm when you inevitably fell asleep. Really, it was to be a barrier for when he moved you to the bed. The most logical place he could think of was the bedroom closet, door opening as he stepped up to it and closing directly after he stepped through. He sighed, ripping off his helmet and let his head fall against the door, allowing himself to finally breathe as he took a moment to himself- just one moment- until he continued the search.

Blanket in hand, he stepped back into the living space, head tilting at the sound of your voice. Wondering who you could be talking to.

“-brings you here, Mr. Adorable?”

A quiet babble and coo caused Din to practically jump out of his beskar and run to the sound. It was impossible. There was no way-

“Grogu,” he growled above your shoulder, causing you to reflexively curl yourself over his son and jump out of arm’s length, protecting him. The action simultaneously had him smiling and caused his stomach to drop at the loss of your proximity. 

“Ba!” Grogu smiled, arms reaching for his father, legs kicking to get out of your grasp.

Din sighed and rushed - invading your space - and quick as a blaster shot, grabbed the little green gremlin from your hold with his empty hand. “How did you get here, you little womp rat.”

Grogu blew a raspberry and giggled in reply, spit bubbles popping around his mouth.

“Is that so,” Din chuckled, never able to stay mad at his son for more than a few seconds. “Is your teacher here? Does he know you stow-”

The tap-tap-tap of claws on his chest plate interrupted Din’s musings.

“Ba?” Grogu’s ears twitched, head leaning close to where his heart had - thankfully- settled down to a regular rhythm since finding you.

“Sorry-” Din’s head snapped up at the sound of your quiet voice. “But who- what- your?” You let the sentence hang expectantly.

“Grogu,” the kid looked up at the sound of his name, no longer intrigued by the sound of his father’s newly beating heart. “My son.”

You nodded, eyes bouncing back and forth between Din and Grogu before slowly making your way back to the couch. 

Din followed, sitting on the chair adjacent to you before he started to explain. “He’s become an escape artist.” A pert brow raised at his words, but it was the only explanation he had that summed up the entire situation. Although, he had no doubt the Jedi knew exactly where his Padawan was with his magic Force sense - something DIn doubts he’ll ever fully comprehend.

A heavy sigh escaped after a few seconds and you slumped into the couch, eyes now closed.

“Here,” Din tossed the blanket on your lap and stood, clearing his throat. “I’ll let you sleep.”

Din headed to the bedroom, immediately preparing Grogu for bed and waited for him to fall asleep on a pillow before daring to make a holocall.

“Vod,” the flickering, blue-tinged sight of Boba Fett calmed Din’s nerve-wracked body. Fett always had answers about all things Mandalorian. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this wake up call to?”

“Sorry, but I have a question and you're the only one I trust not to spread it around Mandalore.”

“You have my word.”

“What do you know about the legend of Mand’alor’kar’ta?”

“That bantha-fodder story? Of how the darksaber keeps the Mand’alor alive while his heart stays silent until he finds the one who carries his heart?” Fett barked out a harsh laugh. “That’s why you’re calling me so early in the morning? For a bedtime story?”

Din stayed silent as he waited for Fett to calm down enough and put the pieces together.

“Wait,” Fett spoke up after a few tense seconds of silence. “Are you telling me your heart hasn’t been beating since you’ve had the darksaber?”

“I specifically need to know if it stays beating without Kar’ta.”

“Who else knows about this?” Fett said instead.

Din let out a heavy sigh, knowing he wasn’t going to get anywhere until he answered all of his questions. “Kryze.”

“The Princess. You told her before you told me,” Fett’s tone was accusatory.

“No,” Din was quick to respond. “She found me severely injured on a Mid-RIm planet. Thought I was dead and brought me back to life.”

“Is she-”

“No.”

“Thank the Maker,” Fett breathed out. “But you did find your Kar’ta?”

Din tilted his head down in the smallest of nods, unable to voice that he, in fact, had found her. As if speaking the words would make it all too real.

“Interesting.”

“Fett,” DIn growled in warning.

“I imagine you should stay close to your Kar’ta until they are your riduur.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I have no idea.”

Din groaned, helmeted head falling into his hands.

“The legend never mentions anything between the time of finding their Kar’ta and marriage. My father only said there was great pain for the Mand’alor who doesn’t follow his heart.”

Without so much as a goodbye, Din shut off his handheld projector, effectively ending the call.

~~~

He had been sitting on the couch while Grogu babbled excitedly in his lap, telling him…something. Din was both longing and dreading the day he would be able to comprehend his son’s words when you ran into the living space as though your life depended on it, hair askew, blurting out what was on your mind. 

“Icanwatchhim,” the words ran together, your breathing heavy.

Din was only a little surprised your first action of the day wasn’t kicking him in the shin for moving you to the bedroom and slowly turned his head in your direction, wary of startling you.

“I can watch him,” you stated more calmly, breaths now taken at a normal pace, and cleared your throat. Looking more composed, hands folded in front of you. “While you’re out doing whatever it is you do.”

Din tilted his head in contemplation, wondering if the solution to his Kar’ta problem had really just landed in his lap.

“And I can cook,” you suddenly said, a single finger pointing up like the idea popped in your head at that very moment, likely unable to bear his silence any longer. He had used the tactic knowingly many times before. In his bounty hunting years and now as Mand’alor, but he didn’t purposely use it now. Although it seemed to have worked to his advantage anyway. 

“I’m pretty good at it too,” you continued. “I was a handmaiden to a senator’s mother. I doubled as her personal cook after she stopped traveling with her son,” your feet shuffled as you rambled on. “When I say I can cook, I mean cook for both of you. Not just the little guy,” your smile looked strained. Still, Din couldn’t help but notice your beauty and ferocity in this sudden job proposition.

“Okay,” he said, standing with Grogu now in the crook of his arm, knowing it was for the best. No longer needing to worry about how to convince you to stay by his side. And you gave him a clue as to who kicked you out of house and home; a senator with an elderly, possibly recently deceased mother. He grasped onto that knowledge, easily returning to the days he was the beroya for his tribe. 

“Wait,” he froze at the demand before realizing you seemed lost, spinning around and back. “How did I end up in the bedroom?”

He shrugged, unwilling to admit he carried you there himself. Arms still burning from the memory of how you felt in them, wanting- craving- more. He met your squinted, suspicion tinged gaze, knowing his armor hid his secrets well.

“Did you-”

“I’ll be back,” he stated, taking quick strides and practically dumped the thing he loves most in your arms as he continued past you to the exit. Trusting you completely. Which was dangerous. Trust in a stranger could kill a person. And for you it would likely be an easy task. The thought cut a sharp pain through his heart. His footsteps faltered, unable to smoothly mask the pain.

“Wait!”

Din Djarin, the Mand’alor, froze for the second time in one morning and turned his head over his shoulder to show he was listening.

“What do I call you?” The question came out as a whisper.

“Mando,” he stated before leaving you and Grogu alone. Before leaving his Kar’ta behind. Before gathering information on a certain senator. Before pounding into him until he was unrecognizable or dead, depending on how long it would take for someone to rip him off the guy. His fists clenched at the thought, a smile creeping onto his face as he walked down the halls of Naboo’s best hotel. The galaxies would learn to never mess with the Mand’alor’s Heart.

But first, he must attend mind-numbing negotiations.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading!

Enjoyed this? Read more here.

Mando’a:

~ Mand’alor (MAHN-dah-lor): Leader of Mandalore

~ Kar’ta (Kah-ROH-ta)

~ Mand’alor’Kar’ta (MAHN-dah-lor-Kah-ROH-ta): Leader of Mandore’s Heart

~ Hut’uun (hoo-TOON): Coward

~ Riduur (REE-door): Partner/Spouse

Pronunciations found here.

[seancekitsch]

Master of Puppets: Part one of an Eddie Munson fic

warnings: vol 2 spoilers, mentions of unhealthy coping, angst, mother hen steve, alcohol, hospitals, mentioned violence

Eddie’s been awake in a hospital bed for a week now, covered in tubes and stitches and staples and other gnarly looking shit he doesn’t want to think about. It’s pretty good here, three square meals plus jello cups on demand, and everyone he knows visits. Well, except for one person. It’s been a week since he’s seen his girlfriend. Since the night in the upside down becoming bat-chow. He would have thought you’d at least call by now, but the absence of you is stifling. He misses you so fucking badly, wants to hug you like he’s never hugged before, tubes and wires be damned. He wants to kiss you until his lips bleed. He hasn’t gone this long without seeing you since he was thirteen, and your mom took you to see family in the Catskills. He’s seen you almost every single day for almost eight years, until all this happened.

It’s when Steve Harrington comes to pick up Dustin that Eddie finally loses it and asks.

“Hey Harrington, is y/n okay?” he asks, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

Steve stops for a moment, and Eddie’s breath gets caught in his throat.

“Haven’t seen her, man,” he replies, his voice guarded and Eddie just knows he knows something.

“Can ya check on her? Something? Don’t ya work at the same place? Get her schedule!” Eddie pesters, straining the IV tube stuck in his arm when he gestures.

“She changed shifts, man!” Steve exclaims, but then flattens.

“Fine, I’ll check on her.”

Steve starts walking to the door, as if being in the room with Eddie is now intolerable, as if the three of them were not just laughing before Eddie brought you up.

“Ready to go, Dust?”

“Hold on a second!” Dustin exclaims, and then runs to the side of this uncomfortable excuse for a bed.

“I’ll try to sneak your guitar in next time,” he whispers, and Eddie strains to pat him on the shoulder.

“Thanks kid,” he whispers back.

And then Steve is all but dragging the fourteen year old out the door.

I may be stupid, Eddie thinks, but I’m not dumb. Steve Harrington was hiding something.

“When are you gonna tell him?” Dustin asks in the car as he fiddles with the radio.

“Tell him what?”

Steve shifts the car into gear.

“About y/n!” he practically shouts, “About how no one’s seen her!”

Steve flinches at the boys screaming, but peels out of the parking lot anyway.

“I’m not. I’m gonna go check on her.” He says and it’s final, white knuckle grip on his steering wheel driving the point home.

It’s not awkward for the rest of the car ride, though, because that answer satisfies Dustin and after a few quiet minutes he changes the subject.

To say no one’s seen you would be a lie. Kieth has, at the video store, and so has Steve. Just once. You were coming in to tent an entire stack of video tapes, and to tell Kieth you’d have to take some time off of work.

When Steve followed you to the parking lot, you had snapped at him, given him a look that could kill; Steve knew it best to leave it at that.

“Go check on her NOW, okay?” Dustin presses as he unbuckles his seatbelt.

“Yeah, yeah, sure thing,” Steve mumbles.

“Do it, now!” He urges again as he gets out of Steve’s car.

“Yeah, alright! Jesus dude,” Steve finally relents, and as he leaves he makes sure to do a k-turn to head to your place instead of his.

You were the first of the scoops troop to move out of your parents house, which means you have a new apartment all to yourself; the complex was meant to be new living spaces to go with Hawkins modernization with Starcourt mall, but then all of that went to hell.

When Steve gets there, he notices all of your lights are out. Maybe you’re not home? Maybe you finally went to visit Eddie. But something in his gut tells him that isn’t the case.

Steve gets out quickly, barely bothering to lock his car before he half jogs up the flight of metal stairs to your front door. He fumbles around at the edge of your welcome mat, feeling for the key you told him you stash there in case you leave yours at family video.

He’d only been to your apartment thrice, twice after work for drinks with Robin, and once after the Starcourt incident to fill out job applications together. But all three of those times, it was bright, colorful, you always had music on and snacks ready. It was very inviting, and Steve can only hope to have a place that feels this nice one day.

He pushes open the door, careful to hold the key so he can pull it out, and the apartment is bathed in light from a tv screen. Re -Animator is on (Steve only knows this from being around the tape so damn much) and over the dialogue of the movie he can hear you sobbing. Quickly, his instincts kick in and he hurries into the apartment to find you laying on the couch, crying your eyes out with a bottle of wine. Two other wine bottles litter your coffee table, as well as a bag or tortilla chips. Whaaaat the actual fuck did Steve just walk into?

“Steve?” you ask incredulously, as if him being in your apartment were somehow the outlier in the situation.

“Y/n, what—? What’s all this?” He hurries to sit next to you on the couch, and you basically throw yourself onto him, crying harder than before.

“Everything’s fucked,” you sob, “Eddie’s gone.”

“What? No, no he’s alive. He’s been asking for you at the hospital,” Steve insists, awkwardly pushing your tear-soaked hair out of your face.

“He left me,” you clarify, evening out your breath to explain yourself, “I told him not to go, and he did. He’s gone.”

Steve recalls how you begged and pleaded for him not to be a hero, how you screamed and cried and tried to stop Eddie. And he remembers Eddie not looking back for you at all after he made his choice with those bats. Steve can’t recall where you even were when they brought Eddie into the hospital.

So Steve decides to follow the very little advice his mother gave him years ago, and shuts up and listens. You prop yourself up, sitting up straight as you swing straight from the bottled and continue.

“You know we planned on getting engaged right?”

That was news to Steve. You rarely talked about life plans or goals at work.

“He was gonna finally graduate, move in here, and then boom! Engagement, probably eloping like a week later, we both find better paying jobs. That’s our little life, our family.”

Steve stays quiet, you notice, and you’re thankful for it.

“So when this fucking—“ you hiccup, take another sip, “Vecna shit goes down and I tell him, beg him, to fuckin, to stay. To choose me, and he doesn’t? It’s like all of those plans he made with me are… are..”

“Bullshit,” Steve finishes.

Your brows furrow in confusion, but then you’re nodding.

“Yeah, bullshit. Exactly.”

And then you break down into sobs again, only pausing to drink more from the bottle.

He understands. He now knows someone else understands how he felt when Nancy got drunk on Halloween. Someone else knows the heartbreak he knows. He wishes you didn’t, that this was a feeling unique to Steve Harrington, that he was special some way in his pain. But this isn’t about him, it’s about you and your pain.

“He wants to see you,” he offers, while wrestling the bottle away from you.

You shake your head, like a toddler having a tantrum.

“Nothing to see,” you mumble.

“You don’t have to! I should have started with that. He’s worried about you.”

“Wasn’t worried when he was abandoning me.”

Damn, can’t argue with that, Steve thinks.

“Was—“ another hiccup, “—only thing keeping me here.”

Steve sits with you for hours and three more horror movies that Steve could barely stomach until you fall asleep on the couch covered in your own tears, then takes a pillow and blanket from your bedroom and arranges you with them. He takes the time to remove all of the trash and alcohol from your apartment, and to set out water and advil for you on the coffee table. He thinks about bringing a bagel by the next morning so there’s something in your stomach, but decides against it when he sees dawn peeking over the horizon as he gets into his driveway.

“Did you get ahold of Y/n?” Eddie asks, throat sounding sore from over use. Lucas, Mike, and Dustin had been talking his ear off all afternoon before Steve came to pick them up.

“Okay!” Steve calls out, “Kiddie time over, out of the room!”

Not a great sign. The gaggle of soon to be sophomores all complain and whine and argue, but Steve pushes them out the door and locks it behind them. They’re definitely all standing there with their ears pressed to the door, but it’s nice Steve even feigned the dignity of privacy.

“Bad news first, always the bad news first,” Eddie insists, running his hands through his flat and uncharacteristically lifeless looking hair.

“What is it, Hair?”

Steve doesn’t know where to start, so he just says,

“You said you were going to marry her?”

Eddie’s eyes widen, and his eyebrows get lost in his fringe.

“So you talked to her?! I’ve already got her a ring, I’ve just gotta get outta here, and then Eddie’s ending ‘86 on top, it’s—”

Steve scoffs, and stops Eddie from ranting further.

“More listening than anything. She’s a wreck.”

Eddie deflates.

“She’s drowning herself in wine saying you abandoned her. She’s acting like you’re dead, dude. She’s not coming.”

“She has to…”

Eddie has that same broken look in his eyes that you did.

“She doesn’t, but YOU have to make this right,” Steve asserts.

With his hand on his hips, Eddie realizes he’s doing the mother hen routine… on him.

“Hey dude,” Eddie raises his voice, “I’M the one who’s swiss cheese here, I’M the one who risked my ass for all of us!”

“Well SHE thinks you threw her away to end up like this! SHE took your Master of Puppets routine as a break up!”

Both of their head whip to the side as they hear banging from the other side of the door that sounds suspiciously like Dustin shoving Mike.

“Listen,” Eddie whispers, nearing a hiss, “That’s my woman, and I would never abandon her.”

Steve leans in closely over the edge of Eddie’s hospital bed.

“You broke her heart, Munson, even if you didn’t mean it,” Steve watches as Eddie’s face contorts from anger to despair, “And between you and me, if you don’t fix this I think she’s leaving Hawkins.”

And with that, Steve leaves the hospital room, taking the kids and all of the air in the room with him.

Eddie panics, as much as he can without ripping his stitches or his IV out. He smacks the heel of his palm against his forehead hard enough to bruise.

Fuck, he thinks, he needs to get out of here now.

[wandaromanova]

Reality

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

A/N: hello! happy reading <3

Warnings: mentions of violence and death

anon requested: Can i request Natasha x reader having their own family and you’re obviously the fun parent(wink wink),and one night you wake up to go downstairs to get some water, you hear someone in the dark say “hey mama!” and you just start sprinting back to your room while screaming. Nat asks what’s wrong and you explain what happens,she just looks at you and throws a pillow at your face while saying “that was your kid you absolute dumbass!”

Summary: Y/N and Natasha get off to a somewhat rocky start, but the pursuit of happiness is never smooth sailing.

Word Count: 3.5K | navigation

please do not repost or try and take ownership of my work. reblogs, likes, and comments are always welcome. <3

You have lived a life full of success. You started off serving as a Marine, to which you earned the rank of a Four-Star General. You had donated money to charities as much as you could, hoping to help various countries struck by poverty.

Then, you became an Avenger; someone who saved the world from threats more times than anyone could count. So, you had done a lot of good.

But your biggest achievement? Well, that was easy; falling in love with Natasha Romanoff.

You had met Natasha when you first joined the Avengers. You could lie and say that the two of you hit it off right away and it was all heart eyes and rainbows from the minute you two made eye contact, but that was definitely not the case. 

Natasha was generally a closed-off and borderline hostile individual. She only ever interacted with you when necessary, which was during missions. Your teammates reassured you to excuse her behavior and not take it personally, but it was kind of hard when she’d glare at you when you so much as entered a room.

You were intrigued by the redhead and you couldn’t pinpoint why. Maybe it was because of her file that you had read when Fury first hired you, or maybe it was her goddess-like beauty. Regardless of the reason, you were undeniably drawn to Natasha. 

Your first year on the team was composed of bonding with all of your teammates. Steve and Bucky were your workout partners, going on runs with them every morning.

Sam, Peter, and Thor were your fellow pranksters, having the same playful nature as you. Wanda was your fellow chef, considering you guys were the only people in the Compound that could cook a decent, edible meal.

Vision, Banner, and Tony were the ones you went to regarding anything remotely intellectual. You didn’t understand something? One of them would always have some sort of answer or explanation on standby. 

You grew close to and had a special relationship with each Avenger, all except Natasha.

You would greet her in passing, whether it was a ‘good morning’ or a simple ‘hello,’ you would only ever get a curt nod from the redhead as she continued walking. There was the rare occasion that you would run into her late at night in the gym. 

She would be on the treadmill, glistening sweat forming on her forehead and slowly sliding down her flushed cheeks. Her hair would be up in a messy bun as her tank top clung to her body, accentuating her figure. Her chest would rise and fall rapidly as she took deep intakes of breath, attempting to fill her lungs with air throughout her strenuous activity. 

Okay, now that you describe it like that, you sound like a fucking creep, but you mean well.

Everything about the redhead was just so elegant and gorgeous, even when she wasn’t trying. 

However, one day after a particularly bad mission, you found comfort in the woman that had been an anomaly to you throughout your time on the team.

•❅──────────────── ‎�� ────────────────❅•

You had trudged off of the Quinjet, the feeling of failure weighing down on you. The team had been sent to an abandoned building where Hydra had been holding civilians hostage. The mission was simple.

Go in, take out any guards that may get in your way, locate the hostages, and get them to safety. 

This was something you all had done a million times before and none of you were too concerned. You had been assigned to secure the perimeter, which you did.

However, you did the task haphazardly, not fully analyzing the area, You were so sure that there was nothing to worry about, but that was a huge mistake. 

Once you gave the all-clear, the rest of the team made their way into the building while you hung back, remaining outside to be on the lookout for any incoming threats. Your teammates slowly piled out of the building, civilians in tow. Everything was going well until it wasn’t.

Suddenly, explosions went off. The civilians scrambled to get away, running towards the jet. As it turned out, there were bombs planted along the perimeter of the building which you failed to notice.

The majority of the hostages escaped unscathed, but five of them weren’t so lucky. The building had collapsed, civilians buried beneath the wreckage. 

The events played out in your mind the entire ride back to the Compound. Natasha noticed your mental agony. You stared at the ground blankly, shoulders slumped, eyebrows furrowed, and a hint of a frown on your lips.

To anyone else, it may have seemed like nothing, but Natasha knew better; you were beating yourself up over what happened. 

So, she decided to talk to you later that night. The redhead stood outside of your bedroom door, letting out a deep breath before knocking softly.

A muffled ‘come in’ met Natasha’s ears and she slowly opened the door. You were sat on the edge of your bed, legs dangling off of the side as your feet swayed.

“Uh, hi. What’s up?” You internally cringed at yourself. Seriously? ‘What’s up?’ Dumb ass. 

Natasha closed the door behind her, clearing her throat as her emerald eyes scanned your defeated form.

“I just wanted to check up on you. You didn’t seem too great on the way back here.” You sighed, patting the space beside you, and the Russian steadily sat down, the mattress dipping with the movement. 

“No, I’m fine and dandy right now! Five people’s lives were taken because of me, I’m jumping with joy right now.” Your tone was sarcastic as you twidled with your thumbs, eyes focused on your digits.

There was a beat of silence before you looked up, head turning to face the woman beside you, who was already staring right at you. 

“I’m sorry. It’s just… my recklessness cost innocent people their lives. They were so close to being safe, but I was too confident and wasn’t thorough enough. People died and it’s all my fault.” 

You looked back down at your hands in shame. Silence fell upon you both once more. The only sounds being your heavy breathing and a helicopter flying above. Natasha finally broke the silence, her calming voice somewhat easing your worries. 

“You’re right. You were too confident and an idiot.” 

Okay, her voice was calming, but her words were the complete opposite. You felt tears pooling in the corner of your eyes. She was right, but that didn’t make you feel any better; not that you felt you deserved to anyway. 

“But, is part of being on the team. We learn from our mistakes and we make sure not to repeat them; like any other job. It just so happens that our errors tend to end with the mortality of others.”

You looked back up at Natasha and she offered you a reassuring smile before continuing.

“Everyone on the team has had their fair share of mistakes. Tony and Bruce created a murder bot that resulted in Sokovia falling from the sky. Wanda helped the murder bot with his plans.”

Natasha’s eyes were staring so deeply into your own and you were somewhat intimidated. You have never been this close to her before. 

“And, I have killed more people than anyone else on the team. It may not have been by choice, but that doesn’t change the fact that they died at my hands. My ledger is gushing with red, Y/N.”

Natasha looked down solemnly, as if mentioning her past had physically hurt her.

“Yet, we all learned from our mistakes. We all work tirelessly, and put our lives on the line constantly in an attempt to make it up to those we did wrong. So, don’t be so hard on yourself. Instead of beating yourself up, come back, stronger and wiser.” 

You took a few minutes to absorb her words and realized she was right; as always. 

You blinked away the unshed tears and smiled gratefully at the redhead. She stared at you with a fondness that you’d never seen before.

“Thank you. I really appreciate it.” You practically whispered, emotion dripping from your tone.

Natasha simply nodded her head at you and stood up. You watched as she made her way toward the door, her hand on the knob. 

She spared one last glance at you before speaking. “If you ever need anything, I’m always here for you. Even if it doesn’t seem like it at times. You have me.”

And with that, she twisted the doorknob and walked out, the door quietly clicking as she closed it.

You sat there, replaying the moment that just occurred in your head. A wide smile made its way to your face. You had her to turn to, and you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. 

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

From that day on, you and Natasha grew close. The two of you would hang out every chance you got. From having breakfast in the kitchen together, to watching ridiculous horror movies at night. You had gone from acquaintances, to friends, to lovers.

Yeah, a year after your first proper conversation with Natasha, your friendship escalated into something more. Natasha had confessed to you during one of your coveted movie nights, and you were stunned, to say the least. 

While your eyes were trained on the screen, Natasha spoke out and her blunt words caught you off guard.

“I have feelings for you.”

The redhead had been staring at your side profile while your eyes were glued to the movie. So, she got to enjoy the moment her words registered in your brain. 

You literally choked on the popcorn that you had shoved into your mouth right before Nat decided to confess. You were thrown into a coughing fit, the redhead’s hand coming to your back and hitting it softly. It took you a minute to recover, but when you did, you stared at her with wide eyes. 

“You have feelings for me?” You asked dumbly. In your defense, you wanted to make sure you weren’t hallucinating.

But your concerns and fear vanished when her melodious laughs hit your ears, her eyes bright and shining at you. 

“Yes, I have feelings for you, dummy.” 

The two of you sat there, staring at one another with huge smiles plastered across your faces.

Never in a million years did you think you would become friends with Natasha, let alone have your feelings reciprocated. But God, were you ecstatic. 

Natasha took you out on a date and things went flawlessly. She didn’t bother taking you to some fancy restaurant, knowing all too well how much you despised formal settings.

So instead, she got some McDonald’s and parked her car at the top of an abandoned parking garage. 

The two of you laid on the hood of her car, staring up at the stars while indulging in unhealthy fast food. At one point that night, you tilted your head to the side and admired Natasha.

The pale moonlight shined down on her face, a light glow present on her pale skin. Her arms were crossed behind her head as she rested on them. 

Natasha felt your staring and met your gaze, her eyebrow arched perfectly. “What?” The redhead asked curiously and you shook your head slightly, a smile on your face. 

“You know… your eyebrows kinda look like the McDonald’s logo.”

You didn’t expect Natasha to react the way she did. She laughed loudly, her eyes fluttering shut as her body was wracked by her laughter. You laughed along with her, proud of yourself for evoking a genuine laugh from the usually stoic Avenger. Her laugh was definitely one of your favorite sounds. 

“Wow, L/N. You really know how to woo a lady.” Natasha breathed out sarcastically as she relaxed, breathing heavily and smiling at you playfully.

“Tell me something I don’t know, Romanoff.” You sassed the Russian, sticking your tongue out playfully. She smiled at you, shaking her head gently. 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“You’re something else.” 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“You love it, though.”

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

Natasha did indeed, love your playful demeanor and charm. So much so, that three years into your relationship she proposed. It was nothing grandiose. The two of you were lying in bed, bodies entangled after hours of lovemaking. 

You played with her fingers as you both stared up at the ceiling in silence, basking in the comfortable silence that took over. Natasha cleared her throat and you turned your head to the side to look at her, emerald eyes immediately meeting yours. 

“Marry me.” Your eyes widened and you swear that you stopped breathing for a moment. Natasha felt panic settle in at your lack of response.

“Shit, I’m sorry. If it’s too soon or you don’t want to I completely unders-” The redhead’s words were cut off by your lips crashing against her own. 

Natasha was shocked, but quickly reciprocated the action. Your lips moved in sync, as if it were a dance routine that you practiced for months. In a way, that’s exactly what it was, but the two of you had practiced for years.

When air became an issue, you broke the kiss breathlessly. Natasha’s eyes fluttered open and took in the wide smile on your face.

“Yes.”

It was Nat’s turn to freeze, processing your words. Suddenly, you untangled your limbs from her own and straddled her hips. Nat laughed as you jumped up and down in a childlike manner. 

“Oh my god, we’re getting married! Holy shit!” You were beaming with happiness and the redhead was too. She sat up and hugged you tightly.

You melted at her touch and shoved your face into the crook of her neck, the vibrations of her words hitting your face.

“We’re getting married.”

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

Six months after the impromptu proposal, you and Natasha became wives. It was completely surreal. You stood at the altar in front of your friends and family with the love of your life holding your hands gently. The white lace dress contrasted beautifully with her fiery red hair. 

Natasha stared at you with so much love and you felt like you were drowning, in the best way possible. You couldn’t care to pay attention to what the pastor was saying, too focused on the woman in front of you. Small smiles and giggles were shared between the two of you, neither of you paying any mind to the packed room. 

The only thing that mattered was each other. 

The honeymoon was amazing. Natasha had taken you to Bora Bora, knowing how much you adored the island. It was one of your dream vacations and it was perfect with Natasha by your side.

There were a lot of martinis and sex involved. It was complete and utter bliss. You guys didn’t have to worry about global threats or arrogant organizations. It was just you and Natasha for a few weeks.

Now, you had been married to Natasha for five years. People weren’t kidding when they’d say that marriage wasn’t easy, but the two of you were determined to make it work.

Of course, you guys argued from time to time, but at the end of the day, you loved each other and found resolutions to your issues. 

You stepped down from the Avengers mantle when you and Natasha made the decision to adopt a child. The only way you guys could adopt was if one of you resigned from your dangerous line of work.

It was a no-brainer for you. Natasha loved her job and was determined to make up for her past, you couldn’t have asked her to leave work.

After lots of meetings, paperwork, and house hunting, you were finally able to bring home a little girl, your daughter, Luna.

She was five years old and eerily resembled Natasha. There was something about her green eyes and defined cheekbones that reminded you so much of your redheaded wife.

It was safe to say that you were living out the life you always dreamt of. You were happily married to someone you loved and had an amazing daughter to raise in a beautiful home in the suburbs.

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

It was a late Saturday night. Everything was as usual. You and Natasha had tucked Luna into bed before retreating to your bedroom, settling underneath the covers.

The redhead was reading through a mission report while you watched the news. You blindly reached over to your nightstand for your glass of water and brought it to your lips. However, you realized it was empty. 

You got out from beneath the sheets and made your way out of the bedroom. It was dark as you descended the stairs, all the lights off in the house. The only light was the moonlight that seeped through the curtains of the windows. 

You walked into the kitchen and swung open the fridge, pouring some water into your glass and shutting the fridge. You took a sip of the liquid, but were frightened when a voice sounded throughout the kitchen. 

“Hi, mama.”

In your fright, you dropped your cup, the sound of glass shattering filling the room. You screamed loudly and booked it out of the kitchen and sped upstairs and into your bedroom.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you threw the door open and saw your wife standing there, gun in hand, and pointed right at you.

“Baby? What happened?” Natasha’s voice was laced with concern as she lowered her weapon when she realized it was you.

“T-there’s someone in the house.” You were terrified, eyes wide as you stared into your wife’s worried ones. Her expression was serious.

“Someone said ‘hi, mama’ in the dark. Either someone broke in or the house is haunted. Either way, I think we should move.” 

Realization crossed Natasha’s features and her worry morphed into irritation. She clicked the safety of her pistol on and shook her head in disbelief. 

“That was your daughter, you absolute dumb ass.”

Natasha let out before smacking you upside the head with her free hand. Your mouth opened and formed an ‘o’ shape. You forgot you had a daughter for a second, mind immediately going to ghost children. 

“What? ” You questioned and as if on cue, your bedroom door swung open and revealed Luna. She rubbed her eyes adorably as she looked at the two of you in confusion.

“Mama? Why did you run away?” Her voice was laced with sleep and you felt your heart melt. You knelt down to her level and pulled her into your arms.

Natasha quietly put her gun back into her bedside drawer before walking back to the two of you.

“I’m sorry, honey. I thought you were a ghost and you scared me.” You let out a chuckle before dramatically halting. You stared at Luna with wide eyes, letting out a fake gasp. 

“Unless you are a ghost, that’s posing as my daughter. Impostor!”

You screamed and began tickling Luna’s sides. The sound of her infectious giggles had you and Natasha smiling from ear to ear. The redhead smiled dreamily as she watched you interact with your daughter.

“Mama! Stop! I’m not a ghost!”

Luna let out through her laughter and you finally stopped your attack after a minute. You hugged Luna close as she caught her breath.

“Sorry, sweetheart. Just had to make sure.”

Natasha decided to intervene then, pulling Luna out of your arms and placing her on one hip.

“Let’s get you back to bed, dorogoy (darling).” The redhead walked out of the room and you stood up.

You waited for Natasha to return and after a few minutes, she finally did. She shut the door behind her back and raised an eyebrow at you.

“A ghost? Really babe?” You put your hand up to your chest, your expression full of mock offense. 

“Yes! A ghost! I was ready to get a priest in here and burn the house down.”

Natasha shook her head at you as she moved closer to you, wrapping her arms around your waist. Yours found purchase around her neck, tugging on the baby hairs on the back of her scalp. 

“You’re an idiot.” Natasha spoke completely unamused, but the smile on her face betrayed her.

“I’m not an idiot, I’m the fun parent and you’re just lame. You can’t handle all of this.”

You wiggled in the redhead’s grasp and she rolled her eyes with a chuckle escaping her lips. 

“Oh really? I can’t handle you? Wanna bet?”

The Russian’s tone dropped and you raised your eyebrows at her. You let out a squeal when Natasha picked you up flung your body onto the bed. You bounced on the mattress as Natasha crawled on top of you.

You laughed as the redhead shoved her face into your neck, playfully nipping at your skin. Your legs wrapped around her waist as hers were on either side of your head. 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤSettling down seemed like a fantasy, but now; ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ it was your reality.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

───────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────────

taglist: @perfectromanoff @aliancvnas @marvelwomenslut @chaekhan @rvselie @imasimpfornatashamaximoff @natashaswifey @prentisshoe @mcubreakdown101 @yeetus-thyself @multiyfandomgirl40 @fear-street-girls @007giu @weelight @scotts-orange-slices @puppy-danvers2016 @acertainredhead @jdougl-love @lynxwhispurrs @mindofwesley @lostandsearching @tquick99 @rachel146 @illloveyou @thewidowsghost @uraveragelonelygay @wandasgirlfriend @sapphic-stress @olicity-boo @itsyourgirlmalise @suki-is-a-queen @xxromanoffxx @b-5by5 @hagridsmomma @blurryylines @yeeterthekeeper @maximoff-jp @midnight-lestrange @tomatonugget @mrs-avenger3000 @wandadarlingg @wandanatblogs @nooshe @simpfornatasharomanoff @whyisgamora777 @nylevea @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @grxvitye @thelastavenger-3000 @hunka-hulka-burnin-fudge

[qqueenofhades]

Why are conservatives at the point of global warming denial and spreading Sandy Hook conspiracy theories?

Er, "at the point of?" They've been denying climate change for literal decades, ever since it entered the public consciousness as an organised concept. (They have now largely switched to "your personal actions are responsible for climate change, and not those blameless mega-corporations," but yes.) And the Sandy Hook conspiracy theories, reprehensible as they are, are largely the work of one person/entity, aka Alex Jones/Infowars. He has been spreading them for ten years, ever since the shooting in 2012, and now is finally on the point of getting the bejesus sued out of him by the bereaved families. And frankly, I hope they run him into the ground, take everything he has, and then back the truck up and do it again. Couldn't happen to a nicer guy.

What this means, in other words, is that neither of these positions are particularly new, and in the case of Sandy Hook, are largely spread by one person. However, this reflects the paranoid conspiracy thinking that has become a hallmark of modern "conservatism," from claiming that 9/11 was an inside job to, of course, the Big Lie about the 2020 election. In this mindset, you can never have lost fairly or on the merits of your ideas; it must be because nefarious opposing forces colluded to cheat you. It's the "do your own research!" mindset taken to extremes, where nothing is true, everything has been covered up, and everyone is out to get you at all times. Which, to be honest, sounds like a truly exhausting way to live, but for some people, there is literally nothing except their sense of grievance and dispossession.

As for school shootings, the mainstream Republican line now isn't to outright deny that they happened, but to just tweet "thoughts and prayers" and do literally nothing else. To them, there is no amount of mass shootings that will convince them to give up their guns, as they believe that they need them for "protection!" from Democrats, black people, Muslims, etc. They don't care if a troubled teenager with a history of making threatening statements can walk into a store and legally buy an AR-15 on his eighteenth birthday, as long as that kid is white. When violence inevitably happens, they fall over themselves blaming literally everything else (as with the "there were too many doors!" nonsense after Uvalde). Even though in that situation, their other favorite solution, "a good guy with a gun," was in fact worse than useless to the point of active criminal liability. If literally 400 armed cops stood outside the school for 40 minutes and did nothing while kids were killed, because they were all too cowardly to risk their lives against a single military-grade assault rifle, why the fuck does anyone need to have one? Good question. Ask the Republicans.

Anyway, as I have written about in many other asks, the ultimate answer to this, and most of the other insanity of the modern GOP, is completely unhinged reactionary racism stemming from the election of Obama and the subsequent white-grievance-fueled rise of Trump. This is also why the people, including Biden at one point, who thought the Republicans would "come to their senses" and automatically return to more moderate positions after Trump was gone were so wrong. Instead, the Republican have raced to adopt even more extreme policies even faster, fueled by more grievance at Trump being "cheated," and also because they have been fully radicalized, which is a major and permanent shift in mental state. There's no such thing as just "snapping out" of it, which is why people who study the psychology of cults have written about Trump and his whole movement fit that exact mold. It is much easier to radicalize someone than it is to de-radicalize them, and assuming that they will just automatically return to their prior state of mind is, at the best, deeply naïve.

Likewise, the Republican base has now been so inoculated to such a high starting level of extremism that any politician hoping to appeal to that crowd has to be as crazy as possible-- whether or not they personally believe it, which is even more dangerous and irresponsible, as they deliberately cultivate and exploit the worst parts of America for selfish money and power. Likewise, you can see signs that the movement is starting to ditch Trump more and more, as he is an active liability who appears to be in line for multiple criminal prosecutions and was always an unhinged sociopathic idiot who the GOP hitched their wagon to because he was useful. Now, however, we are seeing a slow but steady shift to Ron DeSantis, governor of Florida, who appears to be Trumpism's heir apparent. Which is even more terrifying, because while Trump was obviously moronic, incoherent, and borderline illiterate, DeSantis is a well-educated, well-dressed, well-spoken fascist who is "respectable" enough to win back the votes of "moderate" Republicans who had no problem with Trump's repellent political policies but were offended by his personal vulgarity. Everyone is talking about a Trump rerun in 2024 (though please god, let him be either in prison or dead by then), but in my view, we should be much more vigilant about DeSantis. Because the media will go wild hyping him up as a "real challenger" to Biden, he will get endless unearned airtime and positioning as a serious figure.

This is especially the case since there is a framework for a billionaire/corporate tax in the Democrats' new budget bill. The oligarchs will fight tooth and nail for DeSantis, even though he is such a true-believer nutjob that he went after goddamn WALT DISNEY WORLD, aka the biggest employer in the state and 75% of the reason that anyone apart from Republican retirees ever goes to Florida. That is because big business always thinks that it can "make a deal" with fascists, and they don't particularly care if that's what happens to everyone else, as long as they get their tax breaks. Of course, they don't want to be SEEN doing this, which is why they will publicly pledge to stop all political donations to election deniers, then quietly pick them up again after a suitable amount of time has passed and they think nobody is looking.

Basically, as the tide of public momentum continues to turn against Trump, I see the establishment GOP deciding to throw him under the bus, blame him and him alone for January 6, and insist that the problem was with him and not the entire structure, personnel, and philosophy of the entire modern Republican Party. Then they can move on to some more "mainstream" white-Harvard-alum fascist a la the DeSantis/Hawley/Cruz crowd, who will be just as bad or worse, but much more able to appear "normal," put coherent sentences together, and act "respectable." I don't know how that will end, but the way things are right now, I sure don't feel particularly hopeful.

[shans-writings]

"Let's be pathetic together" and any (or all) of the LOV!

Let's be pathetic together

Have you ever thought about what would come after the ending of the war?

The answer is: the newest, improved flu.

“I want to smash my head against the wall.”

Dabi is sitting in the far corner of the room, naked from the waist up, eyes closed and head tilted up as if he was staring at the ceiling.

“Great plan, no head no pain,” Tomura hears Toga giggling to Spinner's comment, “except we need our heads to be alive.”

More than a few pair of eyes turned to him at that, staring at Tomura laying on his side, rolled in blankets so he can't possibly move. Or in this case, feel the cold air of the room that Dabi has failed to warm, since he can't use his quirk at all. And even if he could, Spinner thinks, he would be too occupied sneezing and setting things on fire.

“I can't live without a head either,” a chorus of dissapointed owws has him rolling his eyes with more annoyance than disbelief, “and I've been told this is a common sickness nowadays. Deku mentioned it'll be gone in a week. It is harder for us due our lack of vaccines. That's it.”

Another chorus of murmurs comes, followed by a collective, loud grumbling when they all try to change their positions and remember to how everything, everything aches.

“I can't stand a week of this,” Toga has her legs up the wall, baggy pajamas pants pooling in a funny way down her knees, “I'm gonna die. My fangs are gonna fall down and I'm gonna become toothless and ugly. Ochako-chan will never love me back.”

“The last part you got it right,” Tomura is about to correct Dabi when he sees a shoe taking off.

Needless to say, it lands well between Dabi's eyes, with Toga triumphantly turning the other way to make herself a smaller target as Dabi returns the flying shoe, which smashes against the wall.

“Kids,” Kurogiri starts. The tone doesn't help at all and Tomura watches with wonder as the shoe slides down the wall and falls on Spinner. “Don't.”

Well, who says one can't have fun in prison?

The room was equipped for them five months ago, when they got officially allowed to wear more comfortable clothes, along with having more normal furniture. Now there are beds and a shared bathroom, there are rugs lining down on the floor, pillows and board games, a tiny TV with some videogames. It was a really big reward for their good behavior, bought and brought by the UA kids and All Might himself.

The first time they went into that prison, they did it separated, staying that way for some long years. Their quirks were totally restricted and they didn't know anything at all about the others. In isolation, they crawled their own ways back.

Only a psychiatrist was allowed at first, one that would work with them until it was okayed and cleared that they were mentally stable enough. Tomura had laughed, wondering what standards they were using.

“Yours,” his laugh had died in front of the soft smile of his psychiatrist, “society is redeeming itself in this room too, Tomura.”

Curious thing was, they did care about him. About them. After some months, he started receiving visits from Deku, asking how was he feeling, how were they treating him, what did he need, how could he help. He only retorted his first attempts with silence or bitter comments, but at some point the isolation became— too much. He started to feel raw under the scrutiny of the psychiatrist and he thought that if society was in fact trying to make things better this time, even if the damage couldn't be undone or reversed, Tomura wondered if maybe they could stop hurting so much in the future. They were seeing them, weren't them? Seeing them as they were, seeing the pain and the sorrow, and they were trying to make something out of it instead of answering with only violence.

They —the League— started cooperating. It helped that no one wanted a suicidal Dabi or that Tomura really wanted his sanity back. All of them wanted to be out, to get back their independence. They wanted Toga to taste a life worth living, a world where Spinner was not constantly feeling like an outsider. They wanted to see Compress walk again, to sit down and drink with Kurogiri.

The words slide off Tomura's tongue before he can help it.

“Let's be pathetic together.”

He sees them react, slowly. He thinks about how much they had to endure in order to win back the right to be together in that room. He glances at the spots where Twice and Magne should be, looks at the door for a second wondering about Giran and Mustard, Machia and the rest.

“When we get out,” Tomura continues, sure that they will see the light of the sun again.

Dabi huffs, nonchalant.

After a bit, Spinner laughs. Lightly.

“I thought that was what we were doing all along.”

There's a quietness in the room, young and fresh, a blossoming of some sort. And then someone sneezes.

“What about being pathetic now? ” Dabi cries a little, rubbing his eyes and making a face at his next sneeze. “I might be dying.”

“I don't want a corpe in our room.”

Toga twistes her nose, but she gets closer to Tomura, fumbling with the blankets until they are sharing.

“Tomura-kun, you stole the best spot of the room!”

To his horror, Toga's words are enough for the rest to start making their way to him. Spinner is visibly shuddering, so he is willing to host him if only for that. However, it is Dabi's smirk that worries him. His gonna kick his guts if he tries as much as to leave them to suffer without blankets.

“Stay back,” Tomura's order echoes with little force. He can't speak correctly with his stuffed nose and the hotness of his saliva filling his mouth.

“Boss, c'mon. Don't be greedy now. You look so comfy, ain't it right to share?”

Spinner is barely climbing up the bed when Toga screeches, gluing to Tomura's side. There's a freezing breeze coming from the spot Spinner opened on their cover of blankets. Tomura grits his teeth and his eyes turn dark. He moved just fine during the war, even with a ruined body. Somehow, this sickness is worst than any of that. Or he's getting weak. Whatever it is, he can't afford to move. He's too tired and it aches.

“Tomu!”

There's a little battle for the blankets, one he is trapped inside. They kick and move and arrange their limbs, Kurogiri teleporting the rest of the blankets on the room to them. At last, they are a giant monster of multiple heads with a soft body of fabric, dangerously balanced over one bed.

Wait.

“Don't m—”

Before he can finish his sentence, they hear a terrible squeak. And then the fucking bed, with all of them feeling already miserable over it, falls to the ground in a tiny earthquake and rises a chorus of swears and complains, full of I'll kill you all and Please do and This is your fault.

And then Toga starts giggling and a bubble of laughter builds in Tomura's own throat. They all laugh and cough when it hurts them and arrange themselves once more, legs over legs and heads on stomachs or arms, lying down together.

“At least now we have a bed capable of breaking.”

Tomura thinks with affection that they are, indeed, pathetic.

[phoenixyfriend]

For your suddenly omegaverse au what exactly happened? Like I think obiwan and Anakin hop over from cannon verse to omegaverse but I am unclear on if there already existed obiwan and Anakin in omegaverse. Did they die early or do they just not exist or are they just not force sensitive and therefore not a part of the order? Is there still a sith conspiracy around Anakin?

Context: Original Post, Surrogacy, Worldbuilding, Obi-Mom, Soap Operas

So, from the original post:

There is no preexisting Anakin in the Omegaverse

Obi-Wan and Anakin just straight up don’t exist until they drop headfirst into the council room, already covered in blood.

To clarify: There has never been an Anakin Skywalker in this AU. There has never been an Obi-Wan Kenobi.

They don't know this for sure when they land in the AU, though. All they know is that the Jedi have no record of either of them. They figure, well, maybe they just got lost in the shuffle. Anakin wasn't found until he was nine, after all, and that was only by great coincidence.

The rest of this post has almost no mention of the omegaverse elements, FYI.

Warning: References to the Tusken massacre, explicit sedation and isolation of a mentally unstable individual threatening violence.

I don’t want to make light of institutionalization and involuntary holds, but Anakin is a character with a history of violence talking about repeating such an act, and that’s... a bit of an extreme case.

------

It's not that hard to convince the Temple to let them run a mission that lets them stop by Tatooine or Stewjon. Anakin cares a lot more, so Tatooine it is! Obi-Wan can tell there's something sketchy going on with Anakin's particular anxiety about this, but he rolls with it. Anakin was very specific about the timing for some reasons, and at this point, it's easier to just let it all play through.

They go well after the whole “congrats, you’re omegas... somehow,” thing has happened, a month or so before Geonosis would have happened. Obi-Wan has managed to help the council sabotage and delay the Separatist side of the war enough that they’ve gained... maybe a few weeks, maybe a few months. Just a little more time to keep a few more people alive. Nobody’s reached out to Kamino yet, and Jango isn’t staging a failed assassination to draw someone in, either. They’ve bought enough time for Anakin to spend his vacation time checking in on his mom seeing if he exists here, and Obi-Wan can go with him.

They get to Tatooine. They wander about, and Anakin doesn't actually explain where they're going, but takes them straight to where the Lars farm is. Obi-Wan lets Anakin tell him that it was the Force that led him to the right area. Anakin can sense that his mom is in there, and Obi-Wan chalks up the relief from his former padawan to 'she's here and we don't have to look for her.'

Anakin is... panicking. Just a bit. What if he shows up and it turns out this reality's Anakin is off doing something completely unrelated and she realizes he's the wrong person? Or what if she doesn't recognize him and he calls her Mom anyway? What if he fucks up and says something stupid or just starts crying on her? She'll think he's insane.

Obi-Wan... takes over.

Anakin stays hidden, listening. Obi-Wan knocks on the door, and asks if there's a 'Shmi Skywalker' in residence. Someone in town mentioned her. He explains that he has a young friend of about twenty years--they're not sure, exactly, because the friend doesn't know his own birthday, but it's about there--who happens to be a Skywalker, and they're trying to see if they can reconnect him with a parent. They don't have much to go off of other than the surname... the Shmi that lives here wouldn't happen to have ever had any children about that age?

No. She hasn't had any children of her own blood, actually, her only child is her stepson, but she'd be happy to meet this other Skywalker, if he's in the area. It's always nice to find family, and connecting with those that were separated from you is a big deal on Tatooine. She's not going to look a gift bantha in the mouth.

(Cliegg, dear, put down the rifle.)

Obi-Wan promises to let his friend know, bids them goodbye, and goes to find Anakin.

Anakin is having a bit of a breakdown.

As one does.

Anakin insists that they stick around for a bit, that they do what they can to protect the farm, because that's his mom, even if she's not really his mom, and Obi-Wan can tell there's a Lot Going On here. He assumes it's because Anakin's upset his mom doesn't know him, which is a little irrational on account of their two options being "Anakin doesn't exist (and so Shmi doesn't know him)" and "Anakin does exist (but Shmi doesn't know this Anakin, so she still doesn't know him)," but Anakin's not a very rational person.

Obi-Wan thinks tamping down the current crisis is probably a little more important than chastising Anakin's attachment issues, mostly because Anakin's hands are shaking, and he's looking a little wild-eyed, and like. Obi-Wan's not great at dealing with Anakin's many and varied emotions, but he's learned at some point when it's best to just... roll with it Until There's Less Risk of Stab or Sobbing Laughter.

He helps figure out some minor fuckery with the Force to hide the family in the homestead behind them from visitors, and to warn them to hide when someone comes by. It’s not a lot--mostly just meditating and asking the Force for a helping hand--but it’s nice.

Except, well, Anakin keeps fidgeting. He keeps panicking. He has them coming back almost daily for a week, always too scared to talk to his mom but insistent on protecting her, and always looking at the calendar. Obi-Wan wants to get back to the Temple, but whatever the actual hell is going on with Anakin is too big to just ignored.

A specific day comes and goes. Anakin is a mess of jitters and nerves, and finally Obi-Wan asks just the wrong (right?) question, and... they visit Shmi.

Anakin says they can talk later, he just wants to see his mom One Last Time.

(Obi-Wan is getting more and more worried, but he sits through the incredibly awkward meeting between Anakin and his alt-universe mom, watches as Anakin has no idea what to say and almost cries, and Shmi just kind of lets him do that and Beru--a sweet girl, Obi-Wan thinks, and very practical--tells him that this is all very normal for reunited slaves.)

(Obi-Wan wonders if maybe there’s some stuff Anakin never told him about how being a slave affected him.)

(Obi-Wan had thought they’d moved past most of this, but..)

The meeting ends. There’s hugging.

They get back to the ship, and Obi-Wan gets to watch Anakin fall apart. Obi-Wan gets to watch Anakin cry and scream into a pillow, hyperventilate and nearly punch a hole in the wall as he rages about how it was all for nothing! Obi-Wan gets to watch Anakin break into a million pieces in a way he’s never seen before.

Obi-Wan gets a confession.

Anakin tells him about the Tuskens.

It’s not an easy conversation. It’s not a short conversation, either. Anakin’s full of pain and misery and rising guilt, talks about how he’s been asking himself if it would be easier to keep his mother safe if he just killed them all now, except Obi-Wan would know, and be disappointed, and sure the Chancellor had said that they were little more than rabid animals, but Anakin doesn’t think he can kill the younglings again when his mom is still fine, and--

Obi-Wan sedates him.

He wants to say that he’s not proud of this, but... Anakin isn’t well. Anakin isn’t well in a way that is currently, specifically, revolving around doing extreme violence. Anakin is talking about going out and committing a slaughter as preventative maintenance.

Anakin stays sedated until they get back to the Temple, and he’s put in Force-suppressant cuffs--Obi-Wan quietly tells them to use something that can’t be sliced or taken apart by a droid specialist, and to avoid collars because Anakin was a slave for nearly a decade, and has a lot of traumatic associations--and in an isolated room.

It’s not a cell. Not technically.

He can’t just leave, though.

Obi-Wan hates himself for it, just a little. He doesn’t want to be doing this, not to his padawan, his brother, his son, but... a massacre. Even the younglings, he’d said.

(“He said he didn’t think he could do it again,” Obi-Wan mutters, half to himself and half to the mind healer that asks for his rundown of the situation. “I think he knows it was wrong, but...”)

(But he still did it, of course.)

It’s... better than Obi-Wan feared, but worse than he hoped.

Anakin is emotionally unstable. He has been, for a long time, but he’s usually functional. When the mind healer isn’t directly poking at his worst wounds, Anakin can more or less pass for... not okay, necessarily, but no worse than anyone else in the war had. He can say the right words. He can do a joint meditation. He can talk about philosophy the way a Knight that’s taken all the right classes does.

But part of Anakin still holds to the idea that the Tuskens deserved to die.

“This is my fault,” Obi-Wan whispers, more than once, resting his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. “I should have...”

“He was an adult,” says Mace, who isn’t Mace, not the one that Obi-Wan knows, but a newer friend, one that’s still figuring how to act around him. “Young, but still an adult. He made that choice.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t answer. Things aren’t that simple.

“The timing can’t have been a coincidence,” Obi-Wan mutters to himself, later on, but in the same spot, and the same position.

The Quinlan of this universe shrugs. He knows Obi-Wan better than most, right now. Psychometry’s helpful that way, and sharing Obi-Wan’s heat hadn’t hurt. “Seems likely. You said Sith were involved and setting traps, and a kid like yours, with that much power and trauma... ripe for the molding.”

Obi-Wan whines, and then catches the noise and stuffs it back down, locks it up tight with the other ‘instinct’ things he doesn’t like to think about having. The sound already has Quinlan shifting closer, and the smell is... intended to be comforting, he thinks. Reacting to his own distress, which he’s probably just pumping out right now, because he still doesn’t know how to--

“Can I help?” Quinlan asks, and Obi-Wan lets him.

Someone gets through to Anakin, maybe, or he just lets himself be ground down, or Obi-Wan’s entreaties that he can’t teach Ahsoka until he understands his crimes get through. He won’t be trusted around the clones until the Jedi can trust him to do the right thing, they inform him.

“I wouldn’t hurt the clones.”

“Nobody’s going to believe that until you understand your crimes and truly, actually feel remorse for them.”

There wasn’t a crime, technically. Not in this universe. That tribe is still alive, here, unknowing of the fate they escaped by dint of Anakin talking himself down from committing another slaughter.

(He tells the mind healer it’s because Obi-Wan was there.)

(He might have done it, he says, if he hadn’t thought Obi-Wan would be disappointed in him.)

(He says it like it’s a foregone conclusion, that Obi-Wan’s opinion is worth more than the horror of what he might become.)

“We’re going to keep an eye on anyone talking to Palpatine,” Shaak tells him one day, after Anakin’s been mental instability hold for two weeks. “We don’t know for sure how far the similarities extend from your universe to ours, but given everything else you’ve been right about...”

“That bad?” Obi-Wan asks.

Shaak grimaces, fangs glinting in the light. “I want to believe we’d have never allowed a child into such a position, but I can’t know what political leverage may have been used in your dimension... whatever reason was had to put Skywalker in those rooms, we know the consequences now--”

“What did he do to my padawan?” Obi-Wan demands, because Anakin won’t even tell him that. Anakin hasn’t mentioned Palpatine since they left Tatooine. Not to Obi-Wan.

“Nothing physical,” Shaak manages. “But the lies he told and the suggestions he planted... it’s good they haven’t met again yet in this life. We’ll all be keeping them far apart.”

He wants to take solace in that. “Why do you know before I do?”

“Skywalker values your opinion,” she says. “Only yours. He doesn’t want you more disappointed in him than you already are, so much of what is relayed to the council as a matter of security goes no further, but this was deemed necessary to share. He agreed to it, if you worried we’d broken his confidence.”

Anakin’s therapy would normally be entirely private.

Anakin’s therapy would normally not be in response to confessions of mass slaughter.

He hasn’t asked to be let out, which Obi-Wan hopes is a sign that he realizes at least subconsciously that he was in the wrong. The mind healer says he could have been released under watch by a Master probably a day or two after he arrived, but seems to be drawing some kind of comfort in knowing he couldn’t hurt someone even if he tried.

Obi-Wan is Anakin’s emergency contact. His next of kin. His healthcare proxy. Anakin has a right to privacy, minor as it is in such a situation, and everyone recognizes and treats him as an adult, but... Obi-Wan learns as much from the mind-healer as he would have back when Anakin was actually a child.

“He trusts you to make the right decisions,” the mind healer tells him, careful and unassuming. “He has... a lot of conflicting opinions about many things, including the order, the coming war, the nature of human reproductive dynamics, the Code... but he seems keen on the idea that you are his best reference on morality and ethics.”

Oh, good, more horrifying responsibility.

“He’s better,” the mind healer tells him. “I want to get him out of here before he starts going stir crazy while still relying on the perceived safety as a crutch for his mental health. And he--”

“He’ll be staying with me,” Obi-Wan says, heavy as anything. “I know.”

“Well... there’s a war coming,” the mind healer says. She offers a thin smile when he looks at her. “I don’t want him going out, but it makes him feel useful, gives him a direction for the aggression, and... the Council is adamant that we’ll need him as much as we need you.”

It’s true.

“Did he tell you why everyone called him the Hero With No Fear?”

“No.”

“Ask him.”

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Sommelier (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 1

Ding dong fannibals I’m back on my bullshit :) 

I discovered that I cannot for the life of me be concise so this one might come in a couple parts. I don't anticipate it's gonna go as long as Cult Girl but we'll see. Y/n is an introverted waitress at a fancy restaurant with a crush on a mysterious regular. An encounter with a dangerous criminal pulls her into his world.

Trigger warnings: graphic descriptions of violence; implied drug use; religiously-motivated violence.

In some ways, waitressing was the perfect job for an introvert. Customers didn’t see you as a person, they saw you as an NPC. As long as that was the case, you weren’t expected to engage with them beyond the script: you take their order, bring them the food and they, hopefully, leave a tip. To ensure that, you perfected the art of fake happiness. You were there to make money, not friends. 

Well, there was an exception to every rule. Yours was the sommelier. 

The sommelier was a regular at the restaurant, but never ordered a meal. He mostly just sat at the bar, drank expensive wine, and watched the people come and go for hours at a time. Among the waitstaff, he was a bit of a local cryptid. Waitresses whispered about the handsome gentleman with an unidentifiable accent and deep pockets. About how lucky you had to be to score a bartending shift on one of the nights he showed up. It got to the point where bartending shifts were swapped like currency, because every woman on staff wanted the chance to meet the sommelier. 

One of the more religious line chefs liked to remind you all that the devil would come as everything you could ever desire. He was fully convinced that the sommelier was Satan incarnate, and he wasn’t completely off the mark. Standing at six feet tall with features sharp enough to cut diamonds, the sommelier wouldn’t look out of place in a vampire thriller. He always dressed in dark suits. Your coworkers hypothesized this was so the bloodstains wouldn’t show. Despite the chef’s well-intended (if not condescending) warnings, even the threat of eternal damnation couldn’t scare you off. 

As much as you liked to believe you were above stupid workplace gossip, you knew you weren’t. You were never the most socially adept person, but this gave you something to connect over. It’s how you discovered that you and the other waitresses were all in the same boat; broke, lonely and in desperate need of some excitement. And if that came in the form of a wine-loving vampire taking a liking to your restaurant, there were certainly worse ways to go. 

Unfortunately, not even the chance at encountering the sommelier could make you look forward to working Easter Sunday. Your manager had you working from noon to midnight that day. As employers went, he wasn’t much of a tyrant. He offered you time and a half and even let you switch from waiting tables to bartending halfway through the shift. He, too, knew how coveted the bartending shifts were. And you weren’t in any position to refuse, either. You quite enjoyed having a roof over your head and food in your stomach. 

That didn’t make up for the fact that most of the other twenty-something employees had left for the holiday, and you were one of the few stragglers left available. Easter was the most dreaded workday of the year, because the infamous after-church crowd quadrupled in size and lasted all day. They came in double-digit parties, had no concept of birth control and tipped in prayer. Too many times had you reached for what looked like a generous cash tip, only to find that it was a church pamphlet disguised as a fifty.

You clocked in at noon exactly, after waiting for the second hand to pass the twelve just to be sure. 

“[F/N]!” Your coworker, Charissa, grabbed your attention before you could walk away. “I heard you’re at the bar this evening. Congratulations.” 

“He’s not going to show up, Charissa.” You rolled your eyes. You decided to go into this shift expecting the absolute worst, that way you wouldn’t be setting yourself up for disappointment. “It’s Easter.” 

“You don’t know that.” Charissa nudged you in the side. 

You grinned. “Why would a vampire come to dinner on the one day everyone is gonna be wearing a cross?” 

“Oh, shit, I didn’t think of that.” Charissa gasped. “Well, good luck anyway.”

The first wave of customers filing through the door and filling the restaurant with noise pushed all optimism out of your head. Sighing, you approached a person that Charissa had already seated. 

“Hi, my name is [F/N], I’ll be your server today.” You greeted the first customer in your block. “Can I get you something to drink today?” 

The man couldn’t have been a day over twenty-five, if that. He was still lively in a way that meant he hadn’t experienced the drain that was a minimum wage job. He was wearing a shirt that said ‘on fire for Christ’ under a flannel with no buttons. One look and you knew he wasn’t going to tip. 

The man flashed a row of eerily white teeth. “I thought you said you would bring the wine?” 

You momentarily thought you’d already taken his drink order and shook your head. “I’m sorry, did I--”

“Ah, I see your confusion.” The man shrugged and forced a laugh. “You’re waitressing this week, you and I are going on a date next week. My mistake.” 

Great. You thought. It hasn't even been five minutes and I'm already being gaslit.

Any interaction that forced you to go off-script was bad, but this was a particularly irritating diversion. “Would you like to see a wine list?”

“I’m Chase.” He said. “It’s nice to meet you, [F/N].” 

“Have you decided on a drink?” You repeated, trying not to grit your teeth too obviously. 

"I'll have a glass of your finest coke, please." He faked an English accent, poorly.

"We only carry Pepsi products." You said, dreading how this joker would react to such a minor inconvenience.

He threw his head back and made a face like he had just taken a bullet to the chest. "No, it's gotta be coke! It's coke or nothing!"

"Did you want something else, then?" You tried to hurry him along. "The bartender makes a very nice mimosa-"

He smacked the table as if he had some urgent question. "McDonald's or Chick-Fil-A? There is a right answer, so choose wisely."

"...uh," You mumbled, just praying that he would order a drink already. There wasn't even a Chick-fil-A in the area. "I like McDonald's."

Again, he acted like he was shot in the chest. "Oh, you're down zero to two!"

"If you need a few minutes to select a drink," You said. "I can come back-"

He grabbed your arm and forced a laugh. "I'm just kidding around with you, [F/N]. Pepsi is fine."

You scribbled the order down on your notepad, mostly just to pry your wrist from his grip. You wanted to go into the bathroom and scrub yourself down, but perhaps it was just easier to chop the whole arm off. That way you could get worker's compensation, too.

The tables were filling up and you had spent far too long coaxing a drink order out of this youth pastor creep. You had actual families to wait on. The shift was off to a horrible start.

You made him wait for as long as you could get away with. You took drink orders from three full booths before returning to the youth pastor. Because you knew he was raring to corner you again.

You planted the pop in front of him, the glass already wet with condensation. "Have you decided on a meal?"

"I was just looking over this menu and something caught my eye." He began, looking at the holiday menu your manager had printed off. "This rack of lamb, it's a special, right?"

"Right." You nodded. "It's a pretty large meal, though, so I'd recommend sharing it-"

"No, y'see.." he cut you off. "Jesus was the lamb of god. He died on the cross for your sins. And, look!"

He pointed to the menu. "It says it's a 'praying hands' lamb!"

"Oh!" You forced yet another smile. "I can see the confusion. That just refers to how the rack is arranged."

"I think it's a sign from god." He said.

You demonstrated the shape of the dish with your fingers. "See, the rib bones are long and the racks are Frenched, so the dish takes the shape of a pair of, well, praying hands."

"I'll take it." He nodded furiously.

He took a sharp breath in through his nose and you started to seriously wonder if his definition of "coke or nothing" had a double meaning. It formulated in your head as a joke, but it became more and more of a serious inquiry by the minute.

You leaned in just slightly to get a closer look at his face. Some details you hadn't noticed before were beginning to come into focus. His eyes were vacant and glassy. A small but noticeable stream of blood trickled from his nostril.

"Sir?" You said in a clear, projected voice. "Is there someone I could call for you?"

He turned his head. "Jesus died for your sins."

You looked around the room for any sign of your manager, a supervisor or anyone with a shred of authority. "This man needs help!"

In your haste to call attention to the situation, you didn't see him pick up his steak knife.

"You want to know what Jesus felt when you pierced him?" He muttered, just loud enough for your ears alone.

You felt the serrated knife puncture your skin before you had time to process his words. The pain shot through your body, making you freeze in place.

A chorus of screams filled the restaurant. Blood was pouring from the open wound in a quantity you didn't think possible. Underneath, the knife went straight through your hand and into the table.

The man gripped the handle and gave it a twist, a look of horrifying pleasure on his face. At this point, several people had stepped in to restrain him. He was tall and athletic and could easily overpower many of the other customers, which he did. He found another steak knife and began to cut throats while chanting an incomprehensible prayer.

An older woman claiming to be a doctor rushed to your side. She made a makeshift tourniquet from a napkin and a butter knife. Everything after that was a blur. You struggled to stay conscious as the woman tried to guide the knife from the table while keeping it embedded in your hand.

Soon enough, police and ambulances arrived on the scene. The woman placed you in the care of one of the many EMTs, then rushed away to assist the others.

"I'm just doing what Jesus says!" The youth pastor shouted, before gouging his knife into another man's throat. "Spreading his love!"

The officers notably didn't open fire and made an attempt to de-escalate. Maybe that was how the youth pastor was able to escape.