#without evaluating if it's a good idea

[aeide-thea]

so i went to reblog some fanart earlier and started to tag it #oh this is. incredible actually, and then paused and thought, @‍self why the 'actually.' what is that adverb conveying. and i contemplated it for a bit, and finally concluded: well, shit. it's reflexive deprecation.

the thing is, deprecation is my starting position pretty much always, and that's a problem in itself, but mostly my problem; but when you're talking abt somebody else's work, and you start backing defensively away from imagined negativity before anyone's even actually voiced any? you may think you're playing bodyguard, but in reality you're the vanguard of the assault, opening a wedge for enemy forces to strike.

i was talking a couple of weeks ago abt seeing ppl tag that kristin sue lucas name-multiplied-by-one post with tags like 'this is art To Me' vel sim., and honestly i think it's a similar sort of reflex—i think exposure to the tumblr vernacular often leads people (very much including me!) to produce turns of phrase like this, that ultimately serve to convey roughly

'i, a clever girlblogger,¹ am, yeah, engaging with this frivolous hai pollai²-coded material; but my relationship to it, unlike that of most she-ple, is Intellectual and Analytical and Examined! and to make that clear, i'll be dropping in these little verbal particles from time to time, in order to distinguish my own, elevated examination of the subject from the state of risible naivete³ i'm implicitly ascribing to the other, more ordinary audience members i'm conjuring up only to instantly put down—but like, it's fine, i'm a free-and-easy girlblogger(TM), so you can't think i'd ever deliberately propagate establishmentarian prejudices! never mind the effect my rhetoric might subconsciously be having, on me or on anyone else…'

and i think this framing is worth squinting at, and worth attempting to excise from one's speech and from one's mindset, because when you get right down to it? it's just yet another insidious manifestation of respectability politics, that's gotten people to adopt it via the cuckoo-chick strategy of positioning itself as cutesy tumblr idiolect.

and like, circling back around to that fanart i mentioned at the outset: yeah, the tag did feel weirdly prosodically truncated to me without that 'actually'! but this way, if the artist ends up seeing my discussion of their work in their notes, they won't be getting slapped in the face with a wet dead fish first, so like. what's more important, you know?

⸻ ¹ ""(gender neutral)"" ² https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hoi_polloi in the feminine, if i haven't totally fumbled my declensions… ³ phrasing nicked from a comment of @‍proudheron's.

[ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat]

california gurls - spencer reid x fem!reader

reader's beach partying gets interrupted by the fbi... she finds a way to make it fun when she realizes a cute doctor is around and so is her jeep

genre: smut wc: 2133 warnings: early seasons spencer, subbish!spencer, he whimpers, reader wears a bikini, mentioned rapist and murderer, mentions of harassment, reader has been with asshole men, reader has a jeep, car sex, unprotected sex, reader is on birth control, brief nipple play a/n: based off california gurls by katy perry!!

California is absolutely a cliché. Sunkissed skin, bikinis, Daisy Dukes. The golden coast holds parties–like this one–scantily clad girls and slurring morons that look exactly how every other frat boy looks. Here you are, representing that very image. With your red bikini and sand-covered feet, you’re the epitome of a California girl.

In the corner of your eye are palm trees, under which are several tanning ladies. Boys are practically drooling, necks craned to get a peek. Speakers play pop that seems to move everyone–including you. Bodies splash in sparkling blue, hips rock to the rhythm. The music booms. That is until it comes to an abrupt stop.

You look over to see a group of men in sunglasses approaching, one of them evidently responsible for the music-murdering due to his apologetic shrug. He’s obviously not that sorry. Male voices seem offended by it.

The one that turned off the fun stands tall, a black man that–if you didn’t know any better–you’d say was from around here. Another is shorter and older. The one you find most interesting, however, is tall and scrawny, with hair curling around his ears and a permanent nervous smile. To be completely honest, it’s cute. If you could see beneath his sunglasses, you’re sure you’d find overwhelmed eyes bouncing between each tanned body.

The big one–the black one–lifts credentials from his belt.

“Listen, we’re with the FBI. There’s been a string of rapes and murders in the area and we have reason to believe that the UnSub has been here. He might even be one of you.”

Someone–you’re not sure who–raises a hand and asks, “UnSub?”

“Unknown Subject. Bad guy. Perp. You get the idea.” He takes off his eyewear and hooks it in his shirt. “I’m Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan. This here is Supervisory Special Agent David Rossi and,” he points to the cute one, “Dr. Spencer Reid.”

Dr. Spencer Reid awkwardly waves before crossing his arms, lips pressed in a tight line. You wonder what kind of doctor he is and if you should pretend to faint.

“We’ll be asking you questions one by one,” Rossi explains.

Quickly, without even a moment to think, you’re split into groups. One for each agent. To your absolute joy, you’re waiting your turn to get evaluated by the only one labeled doctor. You get closer and can hear the helpless way he asks his questions. With the girls, it’s awkward like he doesn’t know how to talk to girls wearing so little. With the guys, he seems to be keeping a distance. He analyses them–for good reason–but he also seems nervous because he knows the type. He knows the difference between them. To be more precise, he knows how they treat guys like him.

You’re the last in the long line.

When you get to Spencer, you’re pleased when his eyes flick over you before he swallows.

“Hey,” he starts with a tight grin, “I’m Dr. Spencer Reid with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI.�� You tell him your name. He smiles that same awkward smile.

“Uh, right, so… the guy we’re looking for is socially skilled, arrogant, easily aggravated, and will most likely be bold with the way he talks to women, becoming hostile when turned down.”

It’s not in the least appropriate but, in-between gawking at him, you laugh. “Unfortunately, that sounds like every guy out here.”

His perfect brown eyebrows pull together. “Really?”

You nod. Now, up close, your eyes trace his figure, taking in the grey shirt, blue tie and the gun on his hip. It’s weirdly attractive. You wonder when you started being attracted to authority.

“I guess guys around here aren’t gentlemen,” you shrug.

“And girls actually date them?”

Something about the shock in his eyes and the scowl on his lips makes you swoon. “Guess so.”

“What about–uh–harassment? Is there any of that?” Spencer looks down at you.

Shrugging, you sigh, “sometimes. Usually just frat boys. Nothing extreme. Sometimes the gross ones might try too hard. We’ve all been there.”

His lips part and he nods at your answer. Surprisingly, those pretty brown eyes trickle down your body, mapping out each and every curve with a purpose, as if to memorize. The idea of him locking you away only to take back out when he’s alone turns you on more than you’d care to admit. It’s flattering to think you’re that interesting.

It could also be wishful thinking.

But that could be tested.

More specifically, that could be tested by one sentence. That sentence being, “do you want to go to my car? It’s cooler in there. You know?”

After what could only ever be described as a brain short-circuit, Spencer clears his throat and hums a squeaky, “yeah.”

A delighted smile forms on your face as you nod, taking a few steps back to your Jeep. You unlock it, opening the door and leaning over to put the key in the ignition. Spencer’s eyes fall on your ass in the tight, red fabric. You hear him clear his throat behind you before you straighten up. But he’s much closer to you than anticipated.

Chest-to-chest, you look up at him, eyes wide and cheeks burning hot not because of the sun. A rough swallow and then a quick glance to your breasts proves that maybe the attraction isn’t unrequited. He wets his lips and you’re sure you can’t hold back.

Inappropriately, sloppily, and with force, your lips crash together. You hold yourself up only with your hands on the back of his head. And it’s not like you expected any less with lips like his, but he’s an amazing kisser. It’s messy, sure, but it’s hot, your teeth clumsily clacking together every time your mouths open. Only, he doesn’t seem to be enjoying it as much as he wants to be.

“This isn’t–” he huffs into your mouth, hands finding your shoulders. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

Although you know it’s true–he’s supposed to be questioning you not sticking his tongue down your throat–you really don’t care. “Why not?”

“I–I’m not here to–” He takes a frustrated breath. “I’m not here for this… reason.”

You almost wish he wasn’t so perfect but it kind of made it better. When your lips press against his this time, he moans and you’re right back where you started. You think he doesn’t really want to say no. He just knows he should.

You look up at him, your eyes wide and doe-like. Like a little girl capable of begging for a lollipop, you frown. “Please?”

A rough gulp. An exhale. A nod.

Lips reconnect and you’re soon enough in the front seat, on his lap, fingers curling in his gelled hair and cheeks bright red. The door haphazardly shut, you hold onto the handle for balance. Your hips start moving in circles as his tongue dives into your mouth. The prettiest whine falls from him as his hands finally move to your bare waist. One of those hands drift down to the string of your bottoms.

He breaks the kiss and his sickeningly deer-like eyes find yours. “C–Can I?” Spencer mutters carefully. His eyes shine, sparkles of lust floating over the hazel.

“Yeah,” you breathe shakily. Bobbing your head, you lean back as little as you can while still giving him room. But, what you weren’t expecting was him not taking off the fabric. Instead of untying the string and letting it fall down to show off your already wet center, he slides the inadequate polyester to the side, revealing your core.

The way his steady–but honestly heavy–breathing hitches and turns whiny makes you clench. Like handling the finest porcelain, his index and middle finger drag between your folds before reaching a settlement on your ready clit.

A long, pleased sigh leaves you as your hips resume their messy pattern of rocking. He can’t choose between watching you slide across his fingers or your lips part in ecstasy. The feeling of him touching you is heaven but you want something else. At this very moment, you’d crawl, bare, to the ends of the earth for him to please you the way you want.

Oddly steady fingers find his belt. The clanging it makes flips your stomach. You pull his pants down just enough to reach into his purple boxers. A whimper slips out of his mouth as you take him out.

He’s big, pale and pink at the tip. Thin but the perfect length, however. His nails dig into your waist.

You press your forehead against his and slide your hand up and down his length. “I don’t have–uh–any condoms in here but I’m on birth control and I’m clean.”

Spencer’s lips part, an uneven whimper leaving them. “I’m clean, too.”

You release him and position yourself. The tip of his cock brushes through you before you set him at your entrance. His grip on your waist never lets up as you start to lower.

An embarrassingly loud moan slips out of you. You take him to the hilt. Inch by inch until he’s reaching so deep you can’t think. To hide how disgustingly far you’re being stretched, your mouth meets his messily. He takes in your bottom lip and devours it. It’s when you can’t stop yourself that you pull back and put your heads together.

You lift yourself up until only the last inch of him is still inside. You’re sure you’ll have perfect indents left on your skin from his fingernails. You slam your hips back down quicker than you should.

His panicked voice rings high-pitched in the hot car, “i–it’s been a while, I might not last–”

Part of you is glad because you know you won’t either. “That’s okay. That’s–that’s really okay,” you pant.

You revel in the way he whimpers with each movement of your hips. You revel in how pink his cheeks are and the way his eyes can’t stay off your chest no matter how hard they try. You revel even more in how wide they go when you pull the string of your top and let it fall. One of his hands you take, bringing it up. He rolls the sensitive flesh between his fingers as you start a rhythm.

You’re unrelenting, body moving quick because you can’t get enough of how good it feels to have him so deep. It’s bad for you to be feeling him twitch inside you. It makes you lightheaded.

Spencer’s neediness comes in the form of him thrusting up to meet you every time. With one rough thrust, his cock hits your innermost point forcefully and you whine, bringing his lips back to yours. Tongues sloppily collide with no grace. Moans are exchanged while you roll your hips back and forth. In a momentary rush of confidence, his hands move to your hips.

And then your ass.

He’s uncertain why he would do such a thing because now he’s fighting back his orgasm, his length throbbing against your cervix.

Luckily, you’re in the same place. Your walls flutter each time he brushes your sweet spot. Each time he mutters an expletive.

It seems he’s the one to break first, however.

“I don’t think I can–”

You mumble breathlessly, “me, neither, it’s okay.”

Sweat runs down your chest as you pant out desperate moans with each intake of needed oxygen. That knot builds in your gut–a feeling that’s rarely due to a man. You suppose he’s a separate being than the regular assholes around. When his fingers find your clit again, you’re sure. Spencer’s whimpering turns into heavy exhales and you take that as your cue to swiftly tell him not to pull out.

Droopy eyes meet his before you firmly mutter, “inside.”

He sighs shakily and nods.

A few more times of his cock hitting your cervix has both of your orgasms hurtling towards you. Your forehead falls onto his shoulder. His hips slam into yours and you’re coming instantly. Your walls clench around him, triggering his own release effortlessly. His cum drips down your thighs, creating a sure mess.

Words–swears–that make no sense fall from your swollen and parted lips.

“Oh, my God,” Spencer whispers–mostly to himself.

Eyes blown wide and legs cramping, you concur with a soft, “yeah.”

Hesitantly and with great despair, he mutters, “I should really get back to my team…” What follows is a guilty gulp.

You nod and maneuver yourself off of him. You ignore the irritating sensation of the emptiness after being so full. The only thing wrong is that, in moving, you accidentally honk the horn with your ass. Twice.

Half mortified and half amused, you giggle. Your cheeks flush red.

You believe it’s appropriate to assume that his team definitely knows what–or rather who–he spent his paid time doing.

[spaceman---29]

Men's antagonism toward women's self defense strategies reflects their discomfort with female empowerment. When women take measures to protect themselves, such as carrying weapons or walking with dogs, some men attempt to undermine their efforts, which reveals a desire to maintain control over women by keeping them vulnerable. Radical feminist critiques of sex work focus on the broader systemic forces that push women into the industry, rather than simply protecting workers. They argue that by targeting the demand for sex work and providing resources to exit, feminists can dismantle the structures that exploit women. Radical feminists often criticize the liberal feminist approach to sex work for not addressing the root causes of exploitation. While criminalizing sex work without further support systems can harm workers, radical feminists argue for a broader restructuring of society to provide alternatives. By focusing on creating safe exits from the sex industry, they emphasize the importance of long-term solutions that protect women from exploitation while challenging the economic systems that perpetuate it. Many radical feminists express exhaustion with online activism, feeling that it lacks the power to effect real change. While digital spaces have provided a platform for feminist ideas, they can also become echo chambers where meaningful action is sidelined. The call to move from online discourse to real-world organizing reflects a desire for more tangible, collective action that can challenge oppressive systems and create lasting social change. The transactional nature of transgender healthcare raises ethical concerns. The ease with which some can access hormones or surgery, without deep psychological evaluation, reflects a healthcare system that often prioritizes efficiency over thoroughness. While access to healthcare is vital, the lack of comprehensive mental health screenings can leave individuals unprepared for the emotional and psychological challenges of transitioning, ultimately failing to offer truly holistic care. Lets tring through a scary room and see if we find any drippulous vaginas along the way.Nothing good ever comes from slop with drabbley Shadow. Why would you trip over a chicken like that in the middle of rat's squibulous burgers?

[moistvonlipwig]

one of the interesting things about the student council arc is that utena's insistence that anthy is a Totally Normal Girl is, yes, her projecting her ideas about what anthy Should Be onto her and unintentionally molding anthy to fit that image, encouraged by some subtle manipulations from anthy herself (like the blatant lie about anthy Wanting More Friends), but, um, also......she's right! anthy is just a normal girl. she isn't magically beholden to obeying whoever is 'engaged' to her. she thinks of herself as the "Rose Bride" and a "doll without a heart" to cope with her situation and her abuse at akio's and the world's hands but she is in fact a human girl with wants and desires and emotions and the agency to make her own choices. yes her finding the strength to seek freedom from the system and her role in it is much more complicated than utena just telling her to tell touga she doesn't want to do it anymore, and it's good that utena got the shock to the system of losing a duel to re-evaluate how she's been approaching her relationship with anthy up to this point. but ultimately even in episode 11 when utena is arguably at her most wrong and arrogant in how she handles the situation with anthy, she is still unknowingly far more correct about anthy than touga could ever be. she really is just a normal girl named anthy himemiya.

and utena is able to recognize that even as she is in some ways very wrong about her and her situation because utena has not bought into the fundamental premise of the dueling system. touga laughs at utena when utena unintentionally 'orders' anthy to tell touga she hates being the rose bride because it's funny to him that utena doesn't get it, but it's precisely because she doesn't get it that she's able to see anthy's humanity when no one else does. utena's naivete is often the subject of derision by fans (and certainly by the other characters), and in many respects it is a character flaw that leads her astray and unintentionally hurts others. but it can also be a strength that allows her to reject false constructs that other characters take for granted as true and instead see through to the fundamental reality of anthy's situation in ways even anthy is not yet prepared to do. only a fool would think the rose bride is just a normal girl. but didn't you know? utena is a fool.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Return to office and dying on the job

Denise Prudhomme's bosses at Wells Fargo insisted that the in-person camaraderie of their offices warranted a mandatory return-to-office policy, but when she died at her desk in her Tempe, AZ office, no one noticed for four days.

That was in August. Now, Wells Fargo United has published a statement on her death, one that vibrates with anger at the callously selective surveillance that Wells Fargo inflicts on its workforce:

https://www.reddit.com/r/WellsFargoUnited/comments/1fnp9fa/please_print_and_take_to_your_managersite_leader/

The union points out that Wells Fargo workers are subjected to continuous, fine-grained on-the-job surveillance from a variety of bossware tools that count their keystrokes and create tables of the distancess their mice cross each day:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/24/gwb-rumsfeld-monsters/#bossware

Wells Fargo's message to its workforce is, "You can't be trusted," a policy that Wells Fargo doubled down on with its Return to Office mandate. Return to Office is often pitched as a chance to improve teamwork, communication, and human connection with your co-workers, and there's no arguing with the idea that spending some time in person with people can help improve working relationships (I attended a week-long, all-hands, staff retreat for EFF earlier this month and it was fantastic, primarily due to its in-person nature).

But our bosses don't want us back in the office because they enjoy our company, nor because they're so excited about having hired such a swell bunch of folks and can't wait to see how we all get along together. As John Quiggin writes, the biggest reason to force us back to the office is to get a bunch of us to quit:

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2024/sep/26/in-their-plaintive-call-for-a-return-to-the-office-ceos-reveal-how-little-they-are-needed

As one of Musk's toadies put it in a private message before the Twitter takeover, "Sharpen your blades boys. 2 day a week Office requirement = 20% voluntary departures":

https://techcrunch.com/2022/09/29/elon-musk-texts-discovery-twitter/

The other reason to spy on us is because they don't trust us. Remember all the panic about "quiet quitting" and "no one wants to work"? Bosses' hypothesis was that eking out a bare minimum living on from a couple of small-dollar covid stimulus checks was preferable to working for them for a full paycheck.

Every accusation is a a confession. When your boss tells you that he thinks that you can't be trusted to do a good job without total, constant surveillance, he's really saying, "I only bother to do my CEO job when I'm afraid of getting fired':

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/19/make-them-afraid/#fear-is-their-mind-killer

As Wells Fargo United notes, Wells Fargo employees like Denise Prudhomme are spied on from the moment they set foot in the building until the moment they clock out (and sometimes the spying continues when you're off the clock):

Wells Fargo monitors our every move and keystroke using remote, electronic technologies—purportedly to evaluate our productivity—and will fire us if we are caught not making enough keystrokes on our computers.

The Arizona Republic coverage notes further that Prudhomme had to log her comings and goings from the Wells Fargo offices with a badge, so Wells Fargo could see that Prudhomme had entered the premises four days before, but hadn't left:

https://www.azcentral.com/story/news/local/tempe-breaking/2024/09/23/wells-fargo-employees-union-responds-death-tempe-woman/75352015007/

Wells Fargo has mandated in-person working, even when that means crossing a state line to be closer to the office. They've created "hub cities" where workers are supposed to turn up. This may sound convivial, but Prudhomme was the only member of her team working out of the Tempe hub, so she was being asked to leave her home, travel long distances, and spend her days in a distant corner of the building where no one ventured for periods of (at least) four days at a time.

Bosses are so convinced that they themselves would goof off if they could that they fixate on forcing employees to spend their days in the office, no matter what the cost. Back in March 2020, Charter CEO Tom Rutledge – then the highest-paid CEO in America – instituted a policy that every back office staffer had to work in person at his call centers. This was the most deadly phase of the pandemic, there was no PPE to speak of, we didn't understand transmission very well, and vaccines didn't exist yet. Charter is a telecommunications company and it was booming as workers across America upgraded their broadband so they could work from home, and the CEO's response was to ban remote work. His customer service centers were superspreading charnel houses:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/03/18/diy-tp/#sociopathy

That Wells Fargo would leave a dead employee at her desk for four days is par for the course for the third-largest commercial bank in America. This is Wells Fargo, remember, the company that forced its low-level bank staff to open two million fake accounts in order to steal from their customers and defraud their shareholders, then fired and blackballed staff who complained:

https://www.npr.org/sections/thetwo-way/2016/09/26/495454165/ex-wells-fargo-employees-sue-allege-they-were-punished-for-not-breaking-law

The executive who ran that swindle got a $125 million bonus:

https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2016/09/wells-fargo-ceos-teflon-don-act-backfires-at-senate-hearing-i-take-full-responsibility-means-anything-but.html

And the CEO got $200 million:

https://money.cnn.com/2016/09/21/investing/wells-fargo-fired-workers-retaliation-fake-accounts/index.html

It's not like Wells Fargo treats its workers badly but does well by everyone else. Remember, those fake accounts existed as part of a fraud on the company's investors. The company went on to steal $76m from its customers on currency conversions. They also foreclosed on customers who were up to date on their mortgages, seizing and selling off all their possessions. They argued that when bosses pressured tellers into forging customers on fraudulent account-opening paperwork, that those customers had lost their right to sue, since the fraudulent paperwork had a binding arbitration clause. When they finally agreed to pay restitution to their victims, they made the payments opt-in, ensuring that most of the millions of people they stole from would never get their money back.

They stole millions with fraudulent "home warranties." They stole millions from small businesses with fake credit-card fees. They defrauded 800,000 customers through an insurance scam, and stole 25,000 customers' cars with illegal repos. They led the pre-2008 pack on mis-selling deceptive mortgages that blew up and triggered the foreclosure epidemic. They loaned vast sums to Trump, who slashed their taxes, and then they fired 26.000 workers and did a $40.6B stock buyback. They stole 525 homes from mortgage borrowers and blamed it on a "computer glitch":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/09/29/jubilance/#too-big-to-jail

Given all this, two things are obvious: first, if anyone is going to be monitored for crimes, fraud and scams, it should be Wells Fargo, not its workers. Second, Wells Fargo's surveillance system exists solely to terrorize workers, not to help them. As Wells Fargo United writes:

We demand improved safety precautions that are not punitive or cause further stress for employees. The solution is not more monitoring, but ensuring that we are all connected to a supportive work environment instead of warehoused away in a back office.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/27/sharpen-your-blades-boys/#disciplinary-technology

[xneens]

bad ideas (and good results)

pairings: aaron hotchner x reader, sort of spencer reid x reader

summary: after aaron’s rejection, you enlist spencer’s help to make him jealous.

word count: 4.2k

warnings: reader putting on a naked show, airplane turbulence, reid calling reader out for daddy issues

a/n: accidentally put too much spencer in this whoops

You couldn’t take it anymore.

The tension between the two of you was so palpable you were practically choking on it. You couldn’t be alone in a room with him without resisting the urge to throw yourself at him. Even with others around, you still had to peel off your drenched panties when you got home and take a cold shower.

And you knew he felt the same, though he wasn’t as obvious about how it affected him. The team had commented how you were his soft spot, always assigning you to him on cases (when you were newer, you had brushed the thought aside, thinking he wanted to watch over you and evaluate your work), getting your favorite coffee every morning and even putting his jacket around you when you’d been soaked in lake water after catching the unsub.

So when you decided to take the leap and ask him if he wanted to have dinner, you weren’t expecting him to reject you so blatantly. Just a flat-out no. Didn’t even try cushioning the blow.

You still couldn’t erase his expression from your memories as he told you he didn’t like you in that way. Confused at the time, you had stood there dumbfounded by what he was saying. Walking out of his office and heading home was a blur and you wondered if you had imagined his previous actions.

Sitting on your couch with a bottle of wine in hand, you thought about your interactions. Surely you didn’t imagine the way he looked at you on those nights you stayed late to help him with paperwork? Or the way he had comforted you after an unsub had harassed you mercilessly during an interrogation. Or when you had to share that hotel room in Alaska and sleep in the same bed for “warmth.”

After an hour of watching The Wedding Date, you had got an idea that was so delusional it might work. Calling Spencer in the wee hours of the night had him pick up the phone after the second ring, concerned it was an emergency. In a way it was, and he had gotten to your apartment in record time.

He had barely knocked on the door when you swung it open, grabbing by the arm and practically dragging him and his Jesus haircut inside. Spencer raised an eyebrow at your excitement, glancing at the state of your apartment as you drag him to the couch.

“What’s going on? Why’d you need me to come at,” he checks his watch. “Eleven thirty-seven at night?”

You sighed, pushing him to sit on the couch and grabbing the remote. “I kind of asked Hotch out. And before you congratulate me for making the first move, he doesn’t feel the same and basically told me he found me ugly and disgusting.”

Spencer gave you a skeptical look. “He did not say that.”

“Whatever, it was implied,” you reply and Boy Genius gives out a snort at your dramatics. “Anyways, I was watching The Wedding Date when I got this idea … In the movie, this girl hires an escort to be her date to her sister’s wedding because her ex is going to be there. And I was thinking …”

“Go on.” he encourages.

Spencer was the only one to know about your crush on Aaron. The others, especially the girls, had a suspicion you did but Spencer was the one you spilled all your information to. Mostly because he was the first to catch you making eyes at your boss and the closest in age to you. He had listened to the details of your days with Aaron, sometimes debriefing you on how Aaron had interacted with you, the words he had said about you, or the way his body language gave him away. You had eaten up everything he had said in the hopes it had been true.

He was also the only one you could go to with this plan. Derek would’ve had you relayed all the details of your crush to him before agreeing and you didn’t want to tell him he had been right about your crush. You’d have rather died than have Derek Morgan know he was right. Spencer was sweet and attractive, and despite your taste for older men than the doctor, it would be believable considering how much time you spend with each other outside of work.

“I was thinking that we fake date to make Hotch jealous.” you finish, slightly grimacing at how stupid the plan was now that you said it out loud. Before Spencer could reply, you jumped in. “I know it probably won’t make him jealous considering he doesn’t like me that way but on the off chance that it does–I kind of want him to hurt a fraction of what I had tonight. And you probably think the plan is idiotic and pathetic–”

“Alright,” he said, cutting off your rambling. When you raise an eyebrow, he lifts a shoulder. “I don’t think it's idiotic or pathetic. I think we should do it.”

It took you a few seconds to process his words. “Really?”

Spencer nods, giving you a small smile. “Yes, I would do anything for you. Besides, it would be a good experiment and I love experiments.”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes. “Of course you do.”

“So how is this fake dating thing going to work?”

You spend a good half hour talking about the parameters of the plan. Both of you had decided it was best to keep it subtle instead of announcing to the team you were “seeing” each other. Neither of you would confirm it and if asked, you’d redirect the topic somewhat noticeably so whoever had asked would be able to pick up on it.

Spencer surprised you when he came up with the idea for small touches and light flirting. When you had given him a look, he was quick to explain his idea. Obviously, you had to be affectionate towards each other in front of the team and especially Aaron, but not so much that it qualified as PDA.

The smart doctor had proposed small touches like lingering fingers, a hand on a shoulder (you pointed out you did this with him quite often and he argued it would only make more sense to keep doing it), hair ruffling (again you told him you’ve done this to him and he admitted he liked getting his hair played a certain way), and hand squeezes.

You waited for the shock on Spencer’s face when you wondered out loud if it was effective for you to “sneak” into his hotel room during a case and have a member of the team see you going into his room so they could relay what they saw to the others; instead, you were met with an intuitive hum of agreement.

By the time you’d gotten done with planning, it was ten minutes past midnight and Spencer was yawning every few minutes. And while his apartment was only about ten blocks from yours, you offered for him to stay the night with the promise to stop at his place before work for him to get a change of clothes. He accepted and both of you had fallen asleep in the living room while the credits of the movie played in the background.

In the morning, you came to the realization that the wine you had drank had caused you to oversleep, and keeping Spencer up past midnight had also caused him to wake up about half an hour later than usual. You slapped him awake with a pillow before rushing to get ready.

Spencer had been half asleep as he got in your car but after a near-death experience with a semi, he had woken up and clutched his seatbelt all the way to work. As you entered the building, you were rolling your eyes as he mumbled how you were more of a reckless driver than Derek–impossible–and how he feared for his life whenever you were in the driver’s seat.

As soon as you pushed through the glass doors, Emily noticed something different. You placed your stuff on your desk, plopping down on your chair when she sits on your desk, glancing between you and Spencer, eyebrows raised.

“Reid, are you wearing the same sweater from yesterday?” she questioned, and your ears perked up at her words.

Your eyes flicker to Spencer’s outfit. With your lateness, you weren’t able to stop at Spencer’s place and he had assured you he could change into something from his go bag. He was in the midst of picking up the duffel when Emily commented on his fashion sense. You gave him a look to play along but he was looking down at his outfit to notice.

He tilted his head, nodding. “Yeah, we woke up late this morning.”

You’ve never seen Emily’s head turn so fast–you were worried she had accidentally snapped her own neck. The brunette smirked at you before turning back to Spencer. “We?”

Spencer looked up, eyes finally meeting yours. His eyes flickered with recognition and took the opportunity to start your idea. His slight blush was the cherry on top. “What?”

Emily’s smirk grew, and she looked like a cat that swallowed a canary. She turned to you, giving you the look she’d make when a guy would flirt with you during a girl’s night out. “So … what’d you do last night?”

You couldn’t help but grin at her nosiness. “Work. Long, hard work.”

“Yeah, I bet.” she chuckled, side-eyeing Spencer. “The work definitely looks hard when you’re doing it.”

The water you sipped trickled out of your mouth at the innuendo, and you furiously wiped your chin. Emily cackled at her own joke, drawing JJ’s attention from nearby. You try to ignore her, gently pushing her off your desk, mumbling about having to do work, but it only makes her gasp for breath.

JJ sauntered over to your desk, curious at whatever made Emily cackle like the green witch from the Kansas movie. “What’s going on here?”

Emily leans over to whisper in her ear before pointing at Spencer who had taken his go-bag along with him to the bathroom. JJ adopts Emily’s smirk, sharing a look with the brunette before glancing between you and the men’s bathroom.

The blonde pulls up a chair next to yours, the girls surrounding your desks. JJ leans in close, grinning mad wildly at you. “I thought you liked Hotch, not Spence.”

You rolled your eyes, pretending to be annoyed by the whole thing while you smiled internally. “I don’t like either of them, beyond friends. … Stop looking at me like that!”

“Clearly you like Reid more than that if you guys spent the night together.” Emily wiggled her brows, earning another chuckle from JJ. She yelped at the small smack you gave her on the arm.

“We didn’t spend the night together.” you hissed, keeping your voice low. How you would’ve loved to show Rossi your performance right now after he commented you were a terrible liar. “We were doing paperwork together and we fell asleep because it was late and so we woke up late.”

The girls gave each other a look, nodding at you, clearly not believing the semi-lie you told. (Did it count as a lie if you told them the half-truth but in a way that was unconvincing?)

“Uh-huh.”

“Of course. It makes perfect sense.”

“Yeah, especially if you guys were up late. It’s only reasonable that he stayed the night.”

“Mm-hm. You guys were probably so tired you didn’t do anything before sleeping.”

The sarcasm was leaking from their voices, practically dripping on the floor. You didn’t know how to answer their cryptic responses, covering your smile with a hand. You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped your lips. Despite Aaron’s harsh rejection not even twelve hours ago, you were feeling better.

Thankfully, you were saved from coming up with a reply when Penelope came in the room with a case file in her hands, gesturing towards the briefing room. Unfortunately, JJ and Emily’s amusement was so obvious, Penelope was able to pick up on the brewing gossip from just the look on their smug faces.

You passed her on the way up the stairs, giving her a small smile as she stayed back to get the information from JJ and Emily. You rolled your eyes when you heard the technical analysis gasp, walking to the briefing room faster.

While you temporarily escaped Penelope’s wave of questions upon entering the briefing room, you were met with the presence of the man your bones–and pussy–ached for. You avoided looking in his general direction as you sat next to Derek.

He turned to you as the girls entered the room, smiling. “Damn Mama, you look tired. What’d you do last night?”

And as if on cue, Spencer sat down in the empty chair on the other side of you, causing Emily to burst out laughing. The guys turned to look at her, confused by her reaction to Spencer’s timed action. She waved away their confusion, hiding behind her iPad, pretending to study the case all the while her shoulders shook from silent laughter.

Penelope had her eyes set on you and Spencer, giving you a look that read she wanted all the details directly from you. Saving you from having to explain Emily’s reaction, Penelope started the briefing, pulling everyone’s attention from you and Spencer to the serial killer running around Los Angeles.

It was easy to ignore Aaron’s stares through the briefing, too focused on the case details to give him attention but that couldn’t be said on the plane, especially when he walked up behind you on the steps. Your eyes met his and it felt like your nerves told your brain it was a fight or flight situation, causing you to internally panic.

You more or so sprinted up steps and into the plane, inadvertently sitting down next to the man half your coworkers suspected you were hooking up with. While it wasn’t unusual for you to sit next to anyone on the team, your normal spot had been right beside Aaron, the window seat while he took up the aisle seat. So accidentally sitting next to Spencer had caused Emily and JJ to share a glance with each other.

After Aaron had given the team details on what they were supposed to do–thankfully he had partnered you up with Rossi instead of himself–your phone buzzed relentlessly as Penelope texted you asking for details about your new paramour. Said paramour was peeking over your shoulder to read the numerous Penelope had sent.

After a second of them being left unanswered, she called you, her name popping up on your phone. You playfully glared at Emily and JJ before getting up and answering the call.

“Yes, baby girl?” you cooed, pushing the curtains aside to get a cup of coffee. “What can I help you with?”

“You and Reid?!” her voice was so loud you flinched as it hit your eardrum. “I thought you liked Hotch!”

“I don’t like either of them.” you sighed, heart pounding at the lie. Even just hearing his name had caused your body to tense, and you were sure there was a patch of wetness on your underwear. “And Spence and I are just friends.”

“JJ told me you guys spent the night together,” she replied, and you could practically hear her brain cogs working overtime. “As in doing intimate, not-suitable-for-work stuff.”

“No funny business, I swear,” you mutter, hissing when you spill coffee on yourself.

“Please don’t lie to me,” begged Penelope. “You can tell me anything, you know that. And you don’t have to be ashamed that you like Spencer, he’s cute in a nerdy way! You guys would make a great couple–”

Spencer pushed through the curtains, and it was as if Penelope sensed him through the phone because she went silent. Boy genius reached over you to grab a plastic cup from the counter, pouring his own coffee.

“Is that Garcia?” he asked, motioning to the phone. You nodded, smiling at the nearly inaudible hitch of Penelope’s breath. He chuckled, moving a tad closer to the speaker. “Hi, Garcia.”

Before she could reply, you intervened. “Bye Pen.”

You hung up, sighing. Taking a sip of coffee, you leaned against the small counter. “Not gonna lie, I didn’t think our plan would progress so fast. Do you think it makes it look less believable?”

“I don’t think so. If anything, it just made it more so,” said Spencer, mirroring your actions. “It’s very realistic friends would hook up when the situation pushes them to like working late nights, watching movies, or going to chess tournaments together.”

Giving him a blank look, you slurped your coffee rather loudly.

He cleared his throat, feeling awkward. “Anyways, the only thing people may not believe is that I was able to … get you.”

“That’s insane. Why don’t you think you could pull me?”

Spencer blushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just that I’m me and you’re … you. It’s kind of obvious you’re out of my league. I mean you’re very pretty and you could get any guy and honestly, I find it hard to believe Hotch would turn you down–”

You grinned, interrupting his rambling. “Aww, Spence, you’re so sweet. But you underestimate yourself. You’re very cute and if I wasn’t attracted to men twenty years older than me, then I would’ve gone for you.”

“Have you ever wondered if your attraction to much older men is caused by your daddy issues?” he blurted.

The plane lurched to the side, bringing Spencer to pin you against the counter, a hand placed on the counter to keep himself from falling right into you as the plane stabilized. Fortunately, Spencer’s coffee had spilled on the floor instead of either of you. Unfortunately (or fortunately), Aaron had chosen that moment to walk into your little space.

You and Spencer freeze in place as your boss–and the object of your desires–catches you in a position that would’ve had Penelope screaming from excitement. Spencer's free hand was on the counter, trapping you in between. His torso touched yours, your breast pressing up against his chest and your right hand was on his shoulder to stop him from crushing you during the turbulence.

Aaron’s eyes narrowed at the contact and the lack of space between you and Spencer. Both of you immediately sprung into action, Spencer taking a step back while you slid to your left, trying to put more space between you both.

While you were internally celebrating Aaron’s almost-jealous expression, you were more embarrassed at what he must be thinking. You didn’t plan to be so outward with Spencer, after all, you both agreed on only subtle touches, not pressed up against each other in a public space.

“Are you two alright?” Aaron questioned, eyes darting between you and Spencer.

You didn’t want to be delusional and lie to yourself but the vein on Aaron’s neck was bulging, a thing that only happened when he felt stressed or angry. You must’ve smiled subconsciously because he stared at you, brows furrowed.

“Yeah, the turbulence just caught us by surprise,” you reply, motioning to the coffee-stained floor. You stepped around him, shoulder brushing up against his arm. The curtains parted and you backed out. “I’m gonna head back.”

You don’t miss the way his eyes linger as you walk back.

By the time you head back to the hotel, you’re grumpy and sticky from sweat. Throughout the day, everyone has heard you moan and groan about the heat. By now, the team has figured out you’d rather freeze to death than heat.

The AC at the police station could only do so much when the temperature outside was over one hundred degrees. Rossi fanning you while you checked out the crime scene hadn’t helped and when you got back to the station, you begged Aaron to let you stay inside, breaking that awkward tension between the both of you through your hatred of heat.

Not that the tension hadn’t grown whenever Spencer and you were in the same room. Aaron would send him out to look at the body or interview close friends but as soon as he came back to the station, Aaron would find some excuse to send him back out, not giving you two the opportunity to work the plan. Not that you cared that much, you were too busy melting.

When everyone got to the hotel, Aaron held out four keys, and the team groaned. You’d have to share.

JJ snatched a key from Aaron’s hand. “Me and Em will share.”

“I’m not sharing a room with Reid, again,” Derek announced, crossing his arms. A confused Spencer tilted his head at him, a little hurt at the comment.

JJ smiled, handing Spencer a key. “Spencer can share with his friend.”

You glared at JJ, and she threw you another smug smile. Emily snorted, faking a cough when Rossi turned to look at her. Turning to Spencer, you nodded. “Yeah, we can share.”

“Actually,” objected Aaron, eyes never leaving you. “It’s Reid’s turn to have a room to himself.”

Derek looked at him, confused. “No, it isn’t. He had a room to himself in Alaska, it’s my turn actually–”

“Morgan, you can share with Rossi,” Aaron said with finality, giving him a key. He looked at you once again. “I’ll share a room with you.”

You knew the plan had worked but you were too exhausted and sticky to be happy about it. Not that you hadn’t wanted to share a room with him again, but all you could think about was taking a cold shower and hopefully freezing your entire body to the point where you stay cold all throughout the case.

The team dispersed. Aaron and your room was on the third floor while the rest stayed on the first. He carried your duffel bag, and you didn’t bother fighting him like you usually had. The elevator ride up was awkward and you wished he could make up his mind on whether he wanted you or not.

As soon as he unlocked the door, you rushed into the bathroom and turned on the shower, setting the temperature to cold. You snatched your bag from his shoulder and ran back to the bathroom, peeling off your work clothes. A moan slips out as the cold water hits your skin, and for the entirety of the shower, you forget about the man behind the door.

Exiting the shower, you notice you haven't shut the bathroom door completely. The tiny crack allowed you to see Aaron sitting at the table, staring at the file in front of him. If you could see him, he could probably see you.

This is fucking crazy.

Maybe it was a breeze from the vent or maybe you mastered some form of telekinesis but the door cracked open further, about four inches wide now. You don’t make a move to close it.

Heart pounding, you dry yourself, turning away from the door as you bend over to dry your legs. The vent was the only noise you hear as you do so. You’re about to cave and shut the door but you feel eyes on you as you stand up straight.

You don’t turn around. Confidence grows as you take your time drying your hair with the towel, sometimes running a hand through it to separate the wet and semi-dry strands. The reality of the situation finally dawns on you when you squeeze the remaining water out of your hair.

Growing wet at the thought of Aaron watching you, nakedly drying yourself, you can’t help but give him a small peek at what he was missing. You turn around, enough so he could see a glimpse of your pussy. No, you don’t look in his direction, but you can see him staring from your peripherals.

The door had cracked open further since you last saw it. There was no doubt he saw every inch of your backside as you hadn’t wrapped the towel around you once.

You let your hands squeeze your breasts once before bending down to grab a t-shirt from your go bag. It’s oversize, the hem falling just below your ass. Putting a pair of red panties on, you remember how much Aaron likes the color.

Once you’re done, you zipped up your bag and looked in the mirror. It’s obvious how free your breasts are under the shirt, your nipples peeking from the thin material. Reading the words on the shirt, you realize it was one of Spencer’s. You remember stealing it from his duffel after swimming into the lake to save an unsub.

Your lips twitched into a smirk. Opening the door, you were met with Aaron’s unrelenting stare, eyes drifting up and down your body. Not giving him the satisfaction, you ignore him, dropping your bag on your bed.

Wait.

Looking around the room, you notice just one bed.

Shit.

In your distracted haze about the one-bed problem, you failed to notice Aaron moving. A hand gripped your waist tightly, pulling you back towards a hard chest. You freeze, glancing behind you to see a heated Aaron. His lips graze your ear.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, sweetheart?”

[itsnesss]

𝐭𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | minho (xo,kitty) × fem!reader

summary | you’re struggling with a subject, and minho, offers to help. what starts as a tutoring session quickly turns into something more as the two of you grow closer

warnings | fluff, romantic tension, kisses, soft language

word count | 1.9 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

It’s just another afternoon, one of those where you find yourself half-lost in books, taking notes, and still not understanding a thing about the subject. The classroom noise feels more distant than usual, and your mind feels a bit clouded. Maybe it’s the pressure of exams, or maybe just the inability to focus on this damn topic.

"Are you okay?" Minho's voice suddenly cuts through your thoughts, pulling you out of your daydreaming. You turn toward him, surprised.

It’s Minho, your classmate, known for his relaxed attitude but with a charming smile that always seems to make you feel a little less awkward. How hadn’t you noticed how close he was?

"Yeah... well, more or less," you shrug, trying to hide your frustration. "It’s just that I don’t get any of this."

Minho watches you for a moment, evaluating you with a calm gaze. You wonder if he really notices how much this subject is getting to you. But he says it without hesitation.

"Would you like me to help?" you’re surprised by his offer. Minho? The same Minho who always seems more interested in joking around than studying?

You fall silent for a moment, considering the idea. You know you need help, and although you never thought of Minho as particularly focused, there’s something in his tone that makes you think, maybe, just maybe, he could be of some use.

"Well... really?" You ask, a little unsure. His expression shifts slightly, as if the question surprised him.

"Yeah, of course," he smiles and gestures to his desk. "Here or somewhere else, whatever works for you."

You decide to sit next to him. There’s something about his presence that makes you relax a little, although you can’t shake the feeling of slight discomfort being so close to him. For the next few minutes, he helps you go over the lessons. Despite his jokes and laid-back way of teaching, you realize he understands a lot more than you expected.

"See? It’s not that hard once you get the hang of it," Minho looks at you with a calm, almost proud expression, and you can’t help but blush a little.

"Yeah, now I get it. Thanks..." you look away, embarrassed by the shift in dynamics between the two of you. It feels weird, but pleasant.

Minho doesn’t seem to notice your discomfort and leans back in his chair, resting his arms behind his head.

"So, would you like to study together again later?" His voice is light, as if it’s no big deal, but there’s something different in his gaze. Like he’s waiting for something more. Something you can’t quite identify, but it makes you feel even more nervous.

You nod, trying to think of something to say to change the subject.

"Yeah... that sounds good."

At that moment, the teacher interrupts and reminds everyone that they need a tutor. To your surprise, Minho is assigned as your tutor.

"So, I guess you’re officially my tutor," you say, a little more nervous than you’d like to admit. He gives you a playful look.

"Yep, and as your tutor, I’ve got a couple of rules," he smiles in a mischievous way, and you can’t help but feel intrigued.

"First rule: no distractions."

"Distractions? What kind of tutor would you be if what you said didn’t make sense?" You laugh, but there’s something in his smile that makes you feel even more nervous, like he’s playing a game you don’t quite understand.

"Second rule: coffee always helps." He says while tossing you a casual glance. He runs his hand through his hair in a natural way, and you don’t know why, but that little gesture makes you feel a sudden warmth in your cheeks.

"I’m not sure that’s part of the tutoring rules..." you reply, but you say it without really thinking, just because of how close you feel to him.

After a while, you realize that, at some point, your conversation about studying has completely shifted. Now you’re talking about trivial things, and although your eyes are on the books, your mind is far from the pages filled with equations and formulas.

"Are you always like this?" you ask, curious about his attitude. Minho gives you a curious look before shrugging.

"Like how?"

"So... relaxed," you say, trying to find the right words. The truth is, you’re impressed by how calm he is, even when he’s talking to you. It seems like nothing really bothers him. "It’s weird that someone so... confident?"

He laughs softly.

"Maybe I’m just comfortable with who I am. There’s not much to change, you know?"

It sounds like an honest answer, and in a way, it makes you feel a little more connected to him. You didn’t think he was superficial, but the confidence he carries is something you don’t see every day.

The atmosphere becomes more relaxed. The books are forgotten on the desk as you both get deeper into conversation. And suddenly, Minho leans in a little closer than you expected.

"You know, I like that you don’t get nervous about everything," his tone has shifted subtly, and for some reason, it makes you feel even more uncomfortable.

"I’m not that nervous..." you say, though your voice betrays your words. You feel a little silly, and just as you’re about to say something else, his eyes lock with yours in a way that takes your breath away.

The space between you two shrinks to nothing. And before you can react, he kisses you. It’s soft at first, as if he’s testing your reaction. You freeze for a moment, not knowing what to do, but something inside you tells you not to pull away. You respond to the kiss slowly, letting yourself be carried away by the calm that Minho always seemed to have.

The kiss deepens, and the world around you disappears. It’s just him, and you, and the hum of the tension that’s been building up ever since he asked to help you with the lessons.

When you finally separate, the air feels heavy but warm. Minho smiles, a smile that seems filled with a calmness you hadn’t seen in him before.

"So... would you still like to be my student, or do you prefer a different kind of tutoring?" His words are soft, but there’s something playful in his gaze. You shiver slightly, but you’re not sure whether it’s from the kiss or what he just said.

"I think... I could get used to it," you respond, not really thinking, but the idea of being close to him doesn’t seem so uncomfortable anymore. On the contrary.

And in that moment, with his gaze locked on yours and the promise of more moments like that, you realize that maybe, just maybe, studying isn’t the only thing you’ll be focusing on now.

[lightnersdream-archive]

i've been thinking about exactly why people portraying one of the other crew members successfully killing Jimmy as a "for what you did to Anya" kind of thing rubs me the wrong way a bit and it's because like..... this is just another form of taking agency away from Anya, in a way. it's kind of framing her as some meek, shivery woman-thing who's entirely at the mercy of the men around her, either to hurt her or save her.

(i understand these are mostly for wish fulfillment on the audience's behalf because everyone would like to see Jimmy pay for his crimes. whether or not this is the intention of the person writing it isn't really relevant, characterization happens with or without intent. i feel like it misses the point by portraying it as an 'ideal ending'.)

because... Anya is a capable person. she takes things into her own hands when she can. it was partially(?) her idea to get into the cargo,

(before he interrupts her.. remember when she interrupted Curly in the dead pixel segment?)

it was her idea to get the code scanner from the cockpit,

it was her idea to get the medication from behind the foam.

(the chance to do these things herself is not given to her.)

she'd been keeping Curly alive for months in a critical state somehow, her psych evaluations at the start are only so useless because Jimmy refuses to take it/her seriously and Curly is obviously biased when he puts it into his own hands. he's known him a long time, like he said. "I'll just put good for that one."

there's not a lot of material to work with because of how the game is framed, but it's there. we are working with two very biased perspectives and neither one lends Anya what she deserves

there's significant changes in how she speaks post- and pre- crash, and depending on who she happens to be talking to. i recommend re-reading her dialogue, because the difference is drastic

she acts the way she does around Jimmy because he has tangibly done horrible things to her, is actively hostile, and physically could not escape him by any means. she can't take away Curly's agency herself, in my eyes. you have to remember that Especially in the post-crash segments of the game, it's entirely from Jimmy's POV, and he obviously does not (and has never) thought very highly of her or treated her with a shred of respect

i've seen a general idea that she can't bear to hurt other people for any reason, but that doesn't really track to me. this is the real point of the post by the way

it seems based on the parts where she says she struggles to give Curly medication. "It just hurts him so much, I can't stand the noise." "It makes me nauseous."

it's not really the same thing as, say, hurting someone in self defense

this sounds like she did want the gun itself. this never felt worded like someone who would refuse to, at very least, threaten Jimmy with a gun, with violence. if she had been given the agency to make that decision on her own. she wasn't though

she still tries to reclaim some of it even as she's denied it

by the end she's still trying to keep that gun out of his hands

i think some people overly soften her, for similar reasons the game itself is trying to comment on. she's not a tender victim who couldn't cause pain to another out of the softness of her soul, she's a person who's had every last bit of agency ripped from her repeatedly until she couldn't take it anymore. that's the point. that's why framing her that way, "needing" someone to save her, is odd to me

she didn't need Curly to save her, she needed him to take responsibility

she didn't want to escalate things, but she's not an idiot. self defense was absolutely on her mind

but who knows im just saying shit *smiles serenely*

[esmedelacroix]

00 - Pilot

synopsis ! he’s an American football player by day and a passionate mathematician by night. She’s a well-rounded historian and writer who couldn’t evaluate a derivative to save her life. They lived in two different worlds but shared the same study room.

series masterlist | cmnt to be added to taglist !

cw ! no use of y/n, y/n is _____, fluff, slow burn, college au, ooc sukuna, f!reader, child abuse/neglect, alcohol abuse, suggestive

fic radio ! Heavy by The Marías

Ryomen Sukuna knew from a young age that he was a genius. It didn’t take his fourth grade teacher’s praises or his middle school principal placing him in higher level math and science classes. He just knew. But his mother, the resentful drunk, put no effort into his education or his future.

He was the product of her falling in love with an American “businessman” who ended up being a low-level drug dealer who eventually got arrested. On his release day, he had already run away to a distant South American country. So here lived Ryomen and his absentee mother, who moved to America to live in a trailer park.

Ryomen’s mother didn’t bother taking him to school or making sure he got on the bus, so he attended school when he could. His teachers constantly sent notes home begging his mother to bring Ryomen to school, but she didn’t care to read them.

Ryomen picked up small jobs around the park, taking care of the elderly for money and sometimes just a meal. When a social worker was sent home, his mother laughed at the idea of Ryomen being intelligent, chuckling, “That brat will never amount to anything. Both his parents are dumb as fuck anyway!”

By middle school, he was juggling two jobs while attending school whenever he could. He probably broke a good amount of child labour laws, but it’s what kept him and his mother alive.

High school changed his life. His good friend, Toji Fushiguro, begged him to try out for the football team. He mused about how many girls they would get, knowing that he only asked Ryomen to try out with him because he was nervous.

Ryomen picked up football with ease. He was an aggressive tackler, and he was an amazing runner. All those hours he worked at factories and warehouses added to his physique. Having to fight the odd men his mother brought over sometimes also toughened him up. But in the case of football, he wasn't pushing himself because he had to; he played because it became an outlet for him.

He ended up being so good that he and Toji went to college with their amazing skills. Ryomen as a quarterback and Toji as a tight end. Their small town never sent anyone to college for sports, so Ryomen and Toji were practically celebrities. Toji thought it was a miracle that he would be attending a highly selective school just because he could catch a ball and block a few dudes. He had no clue that even without the sports scholarship, Ryomen could have gotten into an Ivy Leauge school with just his grades alone. He was an undercover nerd.

. . .

You grew up in the kind of environment where everything you did was talked about. Being one of the wealthiest families in Upstate New York meant all eyes were on you at all times. You were an only child who was afraid to rebel. So you tried your hardest to be picture perfect. Never allowing yourself to break under pressure.

Attending one of the most prestigious prep schools in New York meant having to be at the top of your class. It meant juggling a full schedule of APs, electives, extracurriculars, clubs, and tutoring. You did all of this seemingly without breaking a sweat. Being the best had a cost. You didn't get to live the teenage life, and it upset you. Your parents insisted on you staying close. But you had different ideas. You were tired of feeling like a hermit. Never having drank alcohol, or dated, or even partied(outside of formal events), you needed to do college right. You couldn’t achieve that close to home.

You could do that at Ohio State. You wouldn’t be the slightly entitled good girl. You'd be the life of the party.

. . .

-> next part

[aphroditelovesu]

Yandere Hannibal Lecter Headcanons (General)

''Nothing here is vegetarian." — Hannibal Lecter.

❝ 🍽 — lady l: I think it's amazing that my hcs become more and more extensive lol, but you like it, don't you? Hannibal is my newest fixation and I loved writing for him, due to his personality. I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes! It's four in the morning here 🤎🤍.

❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, cannibalism and murder.

❝🍽pairing: yandere!hannibal lecter x gender neutral!reader.

Hannibal Lecter is decorous and very polite and he really appreciates that, politeness. He values ​​and is easily offended by people who are rude or who do not have the correct manners, especially at the table. In addition to being a perfectionist analyzer.

He believes that the way people behave at the table directly reflects their education and social status. Hannibal is meticulous in choosing ingredients, preparing meals and presenting dishes. The problem is that his food tends to be human flesh, but Hannibal doesn't consider himself a cannibal, since the victims he chooses are seen as pigs to him.

Hannibal is known for his distinct personality and his appreciation for elegance and refined etiquette. His impeccable education, combined with his exquisite taste, creates an intriguing and contradictory image, due to his serial killer side. He stands out not only for his intellectual abilities and his ability to appreciate high culture but also for his meticulous and artistic approach to his darker pursuits.

You must have his politeness and good manners, that's the least he requires, Hannibal doesn't like rude people and although he won't kill you, he would have to teach you to have good manners. He will be happy to do so, however.

When interacting socially, Hannibal is observant and analytical, evaluating people based on their behavior at the table and in everyday situations. His aversion to rude people puts him in a unique position where he feels compelled to correct these "lapses" in etiquette. The way he corrects these mistakes varies from murder to a class, in this case, that class would be just for you.

You would have to be someone who achieves these Hannibal decorums, or comes close at least, for him to become obsessed with you. He likes polite people and will be happy if you are one of them, but if you are not or don't know the correct manners very well, don't worry, he will help you.

Hannibal is a psychiatrist and is very well aware that his thoughts of you are not ''normal'' or healthy, but he doesn't care. He knows it's morally wrong to do what he does and does it anyway, so what are some dark thoughts about you? But these thoughts quickly become actions he committed in your name.

He will take notes about you and create your psychiatric profile and if there is something ''wrong'', he will offer therapy for you, that is if you were not already his patient. Always very observant and attentive, he will be keeping all the necessary information about you, so that he can use it to catch you later.

If you have problems with your family or friends, Hannibal will take care of it. He doesn't like the idea of ​​someone wanting to hurt you, whether emotionally or physically, and most likely he will kill them one by one and serve them to you. Of course, without your knowledge. He knows you're not ready to know that yet.

Hannibal will be very picky about your food, just as he is about his. If you eat poorly or incorrectly, he will correct it. He enjoys cooking for you and will be adamant about doing so, serving refined recipes and elaborate dishes using fresh ingredients. Hannibal is a bit too controlling.

He is not possessive, but rather obsessive. Hannibal doesn't like it when you get too close to other people, but he will be more uncomfortable if it's someone he has apathy or something against. But he will sort it out. He feels jealous, but he deals with it in his own way, releasing that feeling on other things... Or people.

Hannibal is quite protective of you and will be adamant about keeping you safe. He may try to convince you to live with him or will make regular visits to your home, work or where you study. He will always be around when he gets the chance, just to look out for you.

He will try not to completely succumb to his desires, as Hannibal doesn't like being controlled, and allowing you to have so much power over him makes him more than uncomfortable. At least until he is sure that you will let yourself be completely dominated by him, only then will he feel more comfortable in making his feelings for you clear.

Hannibal Lecter is very intelligent and knows very well how to get rid of evidence that could incriminate him. Besides being a psychopath who doesn't feel remorse or empathy for others, he becomes softer when he's with you. Although his feelings aren't clear or fully understood, he knows he cares about you, enough that he wants you to be his. And you'll be his.

[communist-ojou-sama]

to summarize the for people who don't want to watch a half an hour long video (though it's really good and I'm very fond of Mike) the point is:

It turns out when we engage with fiction (and indeed when we engage with non-fictional narratives and ideas that are new to us) we do not, in fact, have a Descartesian ever-present skepticism that we ease only after rationally evaluating each new piece of information that we're met with.

Instead, what experiments would suggest, is that in the overwhelming majority of cases we engage with new information passively, that is, accepting new narratives of information by default in order to comprehend them, without judgement, unless and until they run up against the rest of our mental model of the world, at which point and Only at which point do we engage in Special Cognitive Effort to attempt to rationally ascertain the truth value of the proposition in front of us.

So given that this is the case, what does it mean when someone sees a poll about telling friends that they may be gay or trans, saying yes to every other gender and sexuality without giving it much thought, and then upon seeing the term "trans woman" suddenly becoming a fully-fledged moral philosopher and king of nuance, who reflects back and says "actually, no, suggesting to anyone that they may be anything but straight and cis is always wrong. I was wrong all those other times." What does that mean about what they think about trans womanhood?

[lynnlovesthestars]

Lesson one

Pairing: Astarion x GN!reader. Genre: fluff. Warning: Mention of Cazador- and that itself it's a warning. Insecurities. Synopsis: Astarion needs a reminder that you don't want anything back. WC: 1.2k AN: You can thank my delulu brain at night for this one, i simply dreamt of it a few weeks ago, n just found the guts to post it. Taglist: @sessils @spacebarbarianweird / Masterpost / Kofi / Patreon

His lips lingered on your neck, hovering over the punctures as his hands still cradled you to him.

He let out a pleased hum before he kissed the mark, quickly stealing the stray droplets of blood with his lips.

You noticed right away how his body stiffened once he had laid you down. His hand cupped your cheek as you were quickly pulled to his lips. Despite his clear discomfort he pushed himself on top of you, his hips pressing against yours as you gently pushed him away.

“Astarion, stop” You murmured as he stared at you, his eyes full of confusion and something you couldn't quite grasp, but lacking the usual light they kept. His hands were holding the hem of his blouse, ready to be tossed away. He was doing it again.

“Did I do something wrong?” He asked with furrowed brows, as he let go of the cloth.

“Yes, what are you doing?” You asked softly as you sat up, gently moving him with you until he was on his knees next to you.

“I'm clearly repaying you for your kindness” He smiled coy as he crawled few steps closer, one of his fangs peaking our from his lips while his dark eyes tried so hard to paint a different picture from his body. The confidence of his movements was shadowed by the uncertainty pooled in the crimson of his eyes.

You placed a hand on his cheek, softly grazing over his peachy skin. “Astarion, this is not a transaction” You shook your head as you admonished him kindly, your hand lingering on his cheek, focusing on the tense lines of his face, that begged to be eased.

“What do you mean?” He asked, confusion written all over his face, either for your physical response or your logic. Regardless it was foreign to him, everything was a give and take and he had just been given sustenance, it was logical he had to repay you.

“You don't need to repay me for anything” You leaned forward, kissing his cheek. “I'm doing it because I want to do it” You explained, not missing on his confusion.

He hesitated, it was too good to be true. There was something he HAD to give back, either with his blood or his body. Cazador had demanded always something. “I don't believe you, everyone always wants something back.” He crosses his arms and sat back. “No one is kind for free” In a way his harshness was like a slap to you, implying you wanted something back was by far unlike you, but then you remembered. You remembered what it when through and you understood if only briefly and theoretically.

“I never wanted anything back, Astarion.” You explained as he evaluated your words, you just gave him time to let them sink in, all the times he had bedded you, they were not because he had to do it, or because you expected him to fuck you as a payment, but because you wanted to.

“So what am I supposed to do, just get up and leave?” He raised an eyebrow skeptic, despite understanding he still was not completely sold on the idea of taking without giving up something.

“If that's what you want yes” It was astonishing to him how you didn’t hesitate, as if this was the norm, even though Astarion knew. He knew how the world spun and if there was something about it that he grasped effortlessly, was that nothing was free and no one was so selfless. Yet he wanted to believe you, even if just for a second.

“I-” He hesitated. He swore that if he still was alive, his chest would be thumping like crazy in that moment. “Want to give you something back” He lowered his eyes with a sigh. “I don't have much to offer besides sex though” He explained, a wave of nausea hitting him harshly. The mere thought was gagging him as he couldn't help but revive one of the countless nights he was forced to bed someone to survive. How he was devaluated to a simple piece of meat, and yet you saw him as much more than just his cock.

“One: you are much more than sex” You raised one finger up, admonishingly. “Two: if you truly want to do something, then come and lay next to me” Your voice softened, just like your body as you offered a soft smile and patted the softness of your bedroll eagerly.

“What?” It was Astarion only reply.

“Come and lay with me, here, under the duvet, in my arms” You spelled out almost purring like a cat at the idea of cuddles. True that Astarion had cold skin, but it wasn't any less enjoyable, and that seemed like enough of a repayment for you.

“You are kidding right? You want to cuddle” He chuckled holding his stomach, half in disbelief as the previous uncertainty dissolved to give space at the new emotion.

“Yes” You nodded. “I want to hold you and care for you” You scooted to the side and opened your arms for him.

“How's that my way of reciprocating the favour?” He raised an eyebrow, how could something so mere even compare to giving up your blood to feed a vampire.

“You are allowing me to love you” You said simply, urging him to join you with a hand gesture.

“Love?” He asked taken aback.

“The point is” You ignored his question casually. “I’m not giving you blood for sex, I'm doing it cause I know you need it” You gestured for him to come closer again. “and I don't want anything back” You closed your eyes and breathed out. “as a matter of fact, if you don't wanna cuddle you just have to say it and you can leave”

“No, no” He sat up, rejecting the idea of leaving, deep down he enjoyed your company even though most of the times it seemed as if he had to put a mask on, but you knew why it was like that, didn’t you? “Don't get me wrong, I'm confused, but I don't even know how to do it.. what it feels like” He admitted as he ran a hand through his hair.

“Then come here”. You simply said as you lifted the blanket to your legs and invited him in the warmth. “And let me show you, small spoon or big spoon?” You asked casually as he climbed next to you, unsure how to position himself as you draped him with the blanket as well.

“Why does it even matter? I usually prefer using a bigger spoon if I have to pick, though I’m a vampire, why would it matter how I eat soup?” He rolled his eyes as he tried his best to ignore the blush that surfaced on his cheeks once you wrapped your arms around him and dragged him to lay. You couldn’t help the giggle at his sudden naivety as you guided his head on your chest as if to invite him to wrap closer with you.

“This is..” Astarion thought for a moment as he allowed you to handle him while your warmth enveloped him. ‘..nice” He hums as he snuggled closer and closed his eyes.

“I’m glad” You murmured before placing a kiss to his temple and tangling your legs together, he didn’t resist to it, he simply molded with you as you rested together.

The weight of the day slowly sunk on the two of you, and lulled by the cicadas, you were asleep before you could say anything else.

[diaper-fetiswing]

🧠 DIAPER TRAINING: rational acceptance of the need to wear a diaper without physically needing one.

one of the key stages of diaper training is to recognize that the conscious desire to wear a diaper all the time is in fact the unconscious need to wear a diaper all the time... here are the different "stages" of the period of rational acceptance of the need to wear a diaper.

RECOGNITION OF THE FACTS: (objective analysis of your situation)

If you answer YES to these 3 points, your desire to wear a diaper is in fact a need.

wearing a diaper makes you feel good

your attempts to stop your kink have failed

you want to wear a diaper all the time

DECONSTRUCTION OF TABOOS: (you question preconceived ideas)

you recognize that diapers are not said to be bad or infantilizing.

Wearing a diaper is normal, as normal as wearing boxers.

EVALUATION OF BENEFITS AND CONSTRAINTS :

✅️ benefit : comfort, well-being, meeting your needs.

⚠️ constraint : discretion, social adaptation, supply.

if the benefits outweigh the constraints, then wearing a diaper becomes logical...

CONSCIOUS DECISION MAKING :

now, for you :

wearing diapers is a rational choice

there is no shame in following this training (because you need it)

you are ready to move towards the integration of (being permenently diapered)

[ddixonsangel]

─── ๋࣭ ⭑ ꒰ 𝐃𝐎 𝐌𝐄 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑 .ᐟ

✧ pairing: daryl dixon x gn!reader

✧ contains: angst without end, established relationship, fights and arguments, daryl's internal conflicts and moral dilemmas, reader trying to be ethical, many mentions of rick, quiet emotional moments in alexandria, two sweet kisses.

✧ warnings & triggers: grief and lost, major character deaths, emotional distress and kind of breakdowns, discussions of guilt, trauma and post-war consequences (with war I refer to Savior's arc), implied past violence, emotional scenes, character conflict and betrayal, Rick and the bridge (enough to be a warning).

✧ era: season 9. pre-time skip. bridge arc.

✧ word count: 5.6k

summary: after the end of the war with the Saviors, the apparent peace built between communities slowly begins to fracture. amidst difficult choices, silent betrayals, and wounds that refuse to heal, you and daryl struggle to stay together as the world rick grimes once dreamed of starts to crumble.

"Daryl, I know you don't agree with any of this. I know you don't agree with the decision Rick has made. I know that, but this isn't a good idea..." You said, your voice trembling slightly from the weight of your words.

It was not the first time you two had this conversation, nor the first time you had expressed your concerns regarding this situation, but it was certainly the first time it had escalated into an argument.

"Please, just think of the consequences it’ll bring... Haven't you thought about the effects this will have? On the communities? On Rick? On us...?" A deafening silence fell in the room. The air between you was thick, charged with an unbearable tension, so thin and sharp that a needle would be enough to pierce it. It seemed that any false move could set off the pent-up emotions on both sides.

His back was to you, motionless. His posture was straight and rigid as if sculpted in stone. His shoulders, tense and raised, betrayed the effort he was making to stand firm, to not let any emotion escape.

"‘course I thought ‘bout it." His voice came out almost as a growl, deeply husky, with that characteristic thick Southern accent you knew so well. "But it ain’t that easy." He remained in the same place, still not daring to face you.

"I know..." Your voice came out as a faint whisper, so low you didn't think he'd hear it. "It's not easy at all... That's why I'm trying to talk to you" You sighed, tiredness reflected in your face, in your posture, in every anguish-laden word your lips released. You felt worn out inside, as if you were fighting a war he refused to see.

"Ya just don't get-"

"No!" you cut him off before he could finish his sentence, more forcefully than you intended. "I do. Of course I do. I understand perfectly well what you're all going through! But that doesn't make this right, Daryl. I don't think it's fair. Not for you, not for Rick, not for anyone." You ran a hand through your hair, exasperated, as if that could release the pressure that was suffocating you inside.

"Look... I'm not happy about Negan being here, in our home, breathing the same air as us, either. It turns my stomach every time I remember what he did to us. To you" You said, your voice cracking a little.

There was a pause in your speech, attentive to his person, trying to evaluate his reaction based on his body language, which clearly showed the sensitivity of the subject you were touching.

"But it was Rick's decision. That was his way of seeking peace among all of us, of following Carl's last wishes..." Your breath caught in your throat for a moment. Mentioning him hurt you. Both of you. The silence that followed was not indifferent, it was reverent. As if to name Carl was to open a wound that was still bleeding.

"Killing Negan wasn't going to solve anything, Daryl.... And it won't now either. You know that well enough" You played with your fingers nervously, staring at the back of his head, looking for a sign that your words were reaching somewhere inside him.

His posture did not relax at all, but he turned his body a little so that he could let you see his face. His expression was unreadable, showing no emotion, though you could notice the small, subtle cracks where his indifferent facade cracked.

"Son of a bitch don’t deserve t’ breathe" He growled low. "Not after every damn thing he did. Not after what he took from us".

"No, Daryl, he doesn't..." You paused again, assessing how you might phrase your next words. "But you can't go against what Rick has already established".

"He ain’t my boss". His words came out as defensive, almost annoyed, with a contained rage that wasn't directed at you.

"I'm not saying this because he is or because he's actually the leader of the whole goddamn group," you replied, slightly irritated, taking a small breath of air to keep calm so as not to let this get out of control. "I’m saying this because, if you go ahead with Maggie’s plan, it would be considered as a betrayal to him... From both of you.”

At first glance, it might have been imperceptible; any other person could have let it pass, but not you. You who knew him since the beginning of the outbreak, back at the Atlanta camp. You knew his emotions, reactions, and movements like the back of your hand.

It was subtle, but you could tell how his nostrils flared ever so slightly. How his already stiff posture became even stiffer.

“It ain’t like that.”

“It is and you know it.” Of course it was a betrayal. Maggie had clearly formed a plot against the decision Rick had made about saving Negan to take down the guy who took the life of her baby's father away.

“He betrayed Maggie first just as soon as he let that bastard live,” He raised his voice a few octaves, turning his body fully towards you so you were face to face. “Glenn’s gone. Abe too. And now we’re supposed to just let it slide?” He scoffed. “What the hell ya expect me t’ do, huh?” His eyes were burning like he was barely holding it together. “Ya want me to clap for him? For showin’ mercy to some sick bastard who butchered people for kicks?” He scoffed, bitter and low. “Nah. Not me.”

You didn’t like the direction this conversation was taking. "No! Of course not!" Your voice came out with more frustration than you planned. "What I'm trying to say is that you simply can't work out a plan with Maggie to go against what your best friend’s already decided! It's not the right thing to do. You don't know what consequences that might bring in the future. You're probably gonna regret it!" Your intention wasn't to argue. What you wanted with this was to make Daryl think twice. To make him realize that this was not the way to make things right.

"Nah. You don't get it." He shook his head in denial, taking three steps backward, then turning and bending down to pick up his crossbow and slung it over his shoulder.

He was done with this.

Oh, but you weren't.

Just as you noticed his intentions to leave, you planted yourself in front of the front door of the house, blocking his exit.

"I do. Maggie is still broken up about Glenn's death. You're still furious about what Negan did to her, to you, to the other communities, and to our group. But what you're planning is not right," you told him with determination, staring him straight in the eyes. You wanted to reach deep inside him, touch his heart, and let him know that the plan was not going to work.

"I'm not entirely on board with what Rick's doing either... With the Sanctuary... With Negan... But it's for the best..." Your gaze softened. "Violence will only bring more violence. We're finally at peace after the war, Daryl...."

"Isn't that enough to trust Rick?" You took a few steps towards him, getting closer. You gently placed your hands on his hard, rigid chest, to which he trembled slightly, but then relaxed under your touch.

"I know Negan's a prick and deserves even worse than death. But he's human too, just as much as we are. He's killed people, we've killed people. Everything bad we've done, we've done it to survive.... We can't take another person's life just because we think they deserve it or because we think we have the right to..." You took one of his hands in yours, and slowly brought it to your cheek, trying to give him some comfort and understanding. "That would put us on the same level as him...".

He flinched just a little under your touch, eyes darting away as he tried to pull his hand back. "Ain’t the same," he muttered. "Ya can’t compare us to him."

"I'm not trying to compare us," you replied quickly as you stopped him from pulling away completely. "I'm not trying to justify what he did, nor am I trying to defend him.... I'm trying to keep you from carrying a burden that's not yours. From doing something you might regret. From losing more of our humanity than we've already lost." You turned your head to gently press a kiss into the palm of his hand.

"I love you so much, Daryl..." You released his hand that rested against your cheek to wrap your arms around his torso, hugging him lightly, your head resting on his chest. "That's why I'm so worried about you...."

You raised your head to look at him. Those sky-blue eyes looked at you with a certain suspicion for your point of view, but at the same time, they held a deep and overflowing love for you.

"Would you think about this, Daryl? Please?" you pleaded with him softly, unconsciously tightening your arms around him. Your anguish and concern were clearly reflected in your features. Those beautiful crystalline eyes that held nothing but adoration for him looked extremely exhausted and full of worry.

He sighed slightly, wrapping his other arm around your waist to reciprocate your embrace while his other hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck to pull your face closer to him so he could plant a soft, reassuring kiss on your forehead.

"Alright," His voice came out slightly rough around the edges, though his words contained a strange softness reserved only for you.

You knew he had only said it to comfort you, not because he truly meant to follow through. Though you hoped with all your might that at least, at the very least, he had tried to listen and understand your opinion on this.

You stayed like that for a few seconds, wrapped in the warmth provided by each other's body, trying to absorb what little comfort this fleeting moment offered.

The tense silence of the beginning still lingered in the air, but at least it was no longer as suffocating as before.

After what seemed like hours, he gently pulled away from you, his hands resting on your shoulders.

He stared at you for a moment, then leaned in to cradle your cheeks in his hands to press a sweet kiss on your lips.

You reciprocated without a second thought, enjoying the faint taste of tobacco and whiskey in his mouth.

This kiss was nothing like the ones you normally shared. This one had a hint of uneasiness and uncertainty mixed with overwhelming and heartbreaking emotions that threatened to consume you both.

It was soft as the touch of a feather but was also intense. Not in the hungry sense where passion took control of both of their bodies, but because of the meaning behind it.

His lips parted from yours slowly, leaving you with a small craving for more. More of him. More comfort. More love before everything became complicated again.

You opened your eyes slightly, meeting his eyes that were already looking back at you.

His touch left your skin, and you straightened. He gave you one last look, tension and something like anguish still clinging to him, and then lowered his head and walked past you, heading for the door.

The only sound left in his wake was the soft click of it closing behind him

The days after that conversation were the same as the days before. Daryl was still wary when Rick came over to talk to him about how he was handling things at the Sanctuary, even though he tried to hide it; he rarely came back to the tent to sleep with you; you didn't see him as often as you used to and he was still as irritable as the last few times.

As for the atmosphere in general, there was an uneasy and tense discomfort between the communities. Rick seemed increasingly anxious about the situation he found himself in with Maggie, Daryl and a few others disagreeing with his decision, even if he was desperately trying to remain calm to not disturb the others any further.

Maggie was still keeping her distance, offering Hilltop's help and resources to the Sanctuary people with distrust, although fortunately, she was not entirely closed off to negotiate with Rick or Alexandria.

And for your part, you were supporting as much as you could at the temporary camp in the woods, where people from all the communities, especially the Sanctuary, were staying to help build the bridge that would connect the roads between them and make trade and communication easier.

You may not have fully agreed with the fate Rick had chosen for Negan, but you couldn't deny that every one of his decisions was born out of a genuine desire to rebuild peace, to heal the open wounds left by the war just a few months before.

You believed in his vision, in this new beginning that was so much needed after all the pain suffered. That's why you chose to have faith in him, hoping that his efforts to bring together the communities would not be wasted.

You just hoped that Daryl and Maggie would understand it soon. That they could open their eyes before it was too late.

However, that small flicker of hope vanished the moment you learned about the people who had gone missing from the camp.

Some ex-Saviors had been executed by members of Oceanside—vengeance disguised as justice—for the murders and suffering they’d once inflicted on their people.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

The worst was finding out that Daryl and Maggie had known all along. They were aware of what was happening, and still, they did nothing to stop it. Even worse—they became accomplices through silence. They let the hatred grow like a weed, wild and consuming, until it threatened to choke everything.

Daryl—your Daryl—the man you'd fallen deeply in love with back at the Greene farm, had crossed a fine, invisible line between his principles and feelings. And now… you weren’t sure you could reach him on the other side.

It didn’t take long for the consequences to hit. They shattered what little balance was left.The fragile alliance between the communities and the Sanctuary collapsed instantly. The thread of trust Rick had worked so hard to weave unraveled like a rotted rope, too strained to hold.

Everything that had been built after the war—the attempts to heal, to coexist, to move forward—was reduced to dust.

All that remained now was a slow-burning rage, ready to spark a new war.

A war not for survival...

But for revenge.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

You stormed into the tent you shared with Daryl, shoving the fabric of the entrance aside with more force than necessary.

You were fuming.

Not only had he stood by and let Oceanside go through with what they did—he had no intentions on telling Rick what happened even if he was aware that it was the main reason everyone was starting to give up on the bridge project.

Daryl sat in the corner, hunched over his crossbow like nothing was wrong. He didn’t even glance at you, completely absorbed in whatever he was adjusting. That calm, almost detached silence of his only made your blood boil hotter.

"So that's it? You’re not gonna talk to me?" you snapped, brushing back the strands of hair clinging to your face. "You’re just gonna sit there and say nothing?"

Your patience was wearing thin, and his silence wasn’t doing a damn thing to help.

He sighed tiredly and finally lifted his gaze, meeting your eyes that reflected all the anger, disappointment and betrayal you were experiencing.

"What d’ya want me to say?" he muttered, voice low, rough. "That Oceanside was wrong? That they didn’t have the right to act on their own?" He scoffed, shaking his head as he turned back to his crossbow.

"Ain’t like it matters now." His voice grew colder. "They’re gone. Nothin’ I say changes that."

That only seemed to fuel the flames of your anger even more. "So you won't tell Rick what they did? What you and Maggie witnessed and allowed?!" Your voice came out louder than you expected, filled with accusation and reproach. "What the hell’s wrong with you, Dixon?"

"The hell’s wrong with me? Ya should be askin’ yourself that!" He shot up from the chair, voice sharp and rising. The sudden motion knocked it over behind him with a loud thud.

"Ya been arguin’ with me ‘bout this over and over and over again!" He threw his arms slightly, not in exaggeration, more like he was trying to shake the frustration off his skin.

"Yer drivin’ me crazy with all your constant naggin’, woman!"

His voice was gruff, restrained, like he was wrestling to keep from saying more than he should. You could see it in his clenched jaw, the way his shoulders stiffened, he was barely holding himself together, just like you.

"Why are ya so fuckin’ fine with all this, huh?!" he barked suddenly, stepping toward you with a fire in his eyes that had been burning low for months, now flaring out.

"Ya already forgot everything they did to us?!" The words weren’t just angry, they were wounded. Even if he didn’t show it, there was pain curled up in the edges of his voice, hidden behind all the fury.

"Of course not! But this is not about forgetting the pain they caused, it’s about knowing that you are betraying Rick. Betraying all of us!" you snapped back, refusing to back down, your voice rising even more.

Daryl gritted his jaw, fists clenched tight at his sides. He looked like he was about to explode, but when he finally spoke, his voice dropped—low, tight, restrained.

"So what? Didn’t he betray us first?" The bluntness of his words hit you like a punch to the gut.

"Ya were there. Ya saw what they did. What they did to Glenn... to Abraham. And now yer fine sittin’ across the table from ‘em? Breakin’ bread with the same bastards who killed our people, just ‘cause Rick says it’s the right thing?"

"He didn’t betray us!" you shouted, voice cracking. "We’re still his family—his priority!"

Your eyes burned, and you could feel the tears threatening to spill—rage and heartbreak all tangled up inside you.

He faltered when he saw you like that. His expression softened for a second. But before he could move or speak, you raised a hand, wiping the tears away before they could fall.

"You’re not the man you were, Daryl…" you said quietly, voice cold. You looked him dead in the eye. "You’re pulling away. From Rick. From me."

You took a few steps back until your shoulders brushed the fabric of the tent entrance. "You’re actin’ out of pain, out of spite. That’s why you keep justifying it, what Maggie wants to do, what Oceanside’s doing, even when you know it's not right."

He didn’t speak. Just stood there, like your words had cut clean through him. He shrank slightly at your tone, but didn’t back down. His eyes never left yours, even if they were clouded with something you couldn’t quite read.

“You and Maggie… what you’re doing is gonna hurt someone else, Daryl. Worse than how you’re hurtin’ me right now.”

You turned around, pushing through the tent flap without waiting for a response, leaving him alone with the weight of your words and the weight of his imminent betrayal.

The rumbling sound of the explosion wasn't the first thing you heard. It was the silence that preceded it. A silence so overwhelming that it made you look up from where you were, as if something inside you already knew what was going to happen.

And then it happened.

A flare shot through the forest, rising into the sky like a hungry tongue of flame, devouring the structure of the bridge and everything it represented. Screams. Voices. The gut-wrenching pain in Michonne's voice shouting for Rick. Wood giving way. Metal twisting. And in the midst of it all...the piercing thought that he was there.

Your legs didn't react. Your body failed to obey you. You could only watch, with wide eyes as your chest tightened, how it all came crashing down.

How he was gone.

The air left your lungs. The world became a blur behind the veil of your tears.

That wasn't just a bridge. It was hope. It was the faith Rick had had, even when no one else could hold it. It was his fight for more than just survival. It was the place where he thought that, maybe, someday he could build a home...with his family, with the communities, with everyone.

And now it was burning.

The bridge was gone.

And so was Rick.

"No... no..." you mumbled, barely aware that your lips were moving. A dry sob escaped your throat, as if the pain was so great that it could not find a way out at all.

In the distance you could spot Maggie and Carol holding Michonne, trying to stop her from going into the flames to look for her partner.

And on the other side you saw Daryl walking away, heading into the woods.

That was it.

Rick was gone.

You couldn't stop repeating it in your head.

And so, as if you couldn't stand being in that place any longer, you turned around on your heels and walked away from the scene, making your way back to the makeshift camp.

You were going to gather the few things you had in the tent with Daryl and head back to Alexandria.

To home.

The house was dark, completely blacked out. Only a dim lamp in the living room remained lit, casting warm gleams of a soft, slightly yellowish glow on the walls. A warm contrast to the coldness of the atmosphere that reigned in the place.

Everything seemed to be too still. The heaviness of the morning's events hung stiffly on your shoulders. It felt as if, apart from your mind and body, the objects in the building knew that something had been shattered that night.

You were in the room you shared with Daryl, sitting on the edge of the bed, hands resting on the mattress and staring blankly out the window. After returning to Alexandria, you had spent a few hours taking care of Judith at Michonne's request, who had stayed with Carol at the camp to take down what was left of it and assist in quelling the still-burning fire in the remains of the bridge.

The lingering traces of the smell of smoke still clung to your clothes. The tightness in your chest that you felt when you saw the explosion had still not left your body after a few hours.

The time you spent with the little girl had done little to comfort you. On the contrary, it only served to make the emptiness bigger. Every little smile of hers, every innocent word, was a stark reminder of how much she would be missing Rick.

You thought of her growing up without a father. You thought of Michonne coming home without her partner. You thought of all the plans Rick had worked so hard to build being reduced to ashes.

And now you were there, alone in that room, feeling like the world had taken an unexpected 180-degree turn of events to put everyone's life upside down. You briefly wondered how all of you were going to find a way to move forward with so many pieces of the puzzle missing.

You lay in bed for what seemed like hours, when in reality it was only minutes, replaying and reliving the day's events over and over again in your head. You couldn't sleep. Your body weighed heavily on you, exhaustion swallowed you whole, but your mind couldn't stop swirling.

You kept your eyes fixed on the window, listening to the little noises outside as you watched the sky.

That's when you heard it.

The front door opened with that subtle creak that you recognized instantly. The familiar slow, hesitant way of entering, as if he didn't want to disturb anyone or as if he didn't know he was welcome, let you know instantly that was Daryl who had walked in.

You made no attempt to move. You just heard his muffled footsteps approaching down the hallway silently, where he stopped in front of the bedroom door.

He didn't open it immediately.

There was an eternal second when you thought he would turn around and just walk away, just like he had done other times before when the weight of everything was too much for him.

But this time he turned the doorknob, gently opening the door.

He came in slowly, almost shuffling his feet. He looked tired, hurt and wounded, clearly remorseful and overwhelmed by the weight of the whole situation. He closed the door behind him without a sound and stood motionless in the entrance.

It was just you and him, in the same room, hidden by darkness and carrying the same grief.

You didn't turn to look at him, or even make the slightest attempt to pretend you were asleep. He knew perfectly well that you were awake—he could feel it in the stiffness of your body, in the way you held your breath—but he also understood your silence. He knew it wasn't out of disdain or punishment, but because there were things that still hurt too much to put into words.

He approached the bed slowly, with unsteady steps, and then sat on the edge of it on his side of the mattress. He took off his boots, vest, and belt, and laid down next to you without any intention of getting close. He kept his eyes on the ceiling and his body at a considerable distance.

"'m sorry." His voice came out in a low, hoarse whisper, rough like gravel but barely cutting through the heavy silence that hung between you.

"For what?"You didn't move from your spot, but your reply was softer than he expected, enough to make him pause.

"f' messin’ things up." He let out a shaky breath beside you, turning his head slightly to look at you—or rather, at the back of your head.

"Shouldn’t’ve kept quiet ‘bout Oceanside's stuff… ‘bout Maggie's…" He drew in a deep breath. "Thought I was doin’ the right thing. Thought I'd—" His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard, trying to push down the lump rising in his throat. "Thought we’d already lost enough…"

The silence returned, gentler now, full of all the words neither of you had dared to speak.

"But we lost… we lost even more. I lost—I lost my brother…" He almost let out a sob.

You could feel the pain clinging to every word, and your chest ached with love and sorrow for him.

"I dunno how to fix this," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper now. "But ya were right… I shoulda listened. Shoulda been thinkin’ more ‘bout ya… ‘bout Rick, ‘bout all of—"

"Come here…"You cut him off gently, turning to face him and opening your arms in a quiet invitation.

He hesitated only a second before moving in close, sliding toward you on the bed. His arms wrapped carefully around your waist as he buried his face in your chest, finally letting the weight of it all sink in.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and brought one of your hands to his scalp, massaging it gently.

You understood his need for comfort after everything that happened. You knew him well enough to know that right now he was blaming himself for what occurred on the bridge, which is why, even though you were still a little hurt by his actions, you weren't going to deny him what he desperately needed right now.

Your support.

You stayed that way for several minutes. With you holding him securely in your arms and him crying silently in your chest.

The days that followed were tense. The community was still adjusting to Rick’s absence, trying to settle into a new normal. Meanwhile, Daryl went out every day with Michonne, tirelessly searching for any trace of his brother, while you stayed behind—either working or looking after Judith.

Though the love between you hadn’t faded, the weight of everything left unspoken had begun to strain your relationship. Some days were swallowed by silence, thick and suffocating. Other days, emotions ran so high it was unbearable to be in the same room together.

There were still moments of intimacy—quiet touches, shared looks, nights spent tangled in each other’s arms—but they were growing fewer and farther between. Not because the love was gone, but because the pain was too loud, and the words neither of you could say hung heavily in the spaces between you.

Still, deep down, you had a feeling that something was about to shift. Something big.

And you weren’t wrong.

In fact, the moment had been creeping in slowly, ever since Daryl started spending more time out in the woods searching for Rick than at home with you.

It happened one morning, in the early hours, when you stirred from sleep to use the bathroom. Groggily, you glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand—just past four a.m.

Reaching across the bed, your hand searched for Daryl’s familiar warmth. But all you found was cool, empty sheets.

And though part of you had expected it, the ache of finding yourself alone still hit just the same.

You slipped out of the bedroom quietly, careful not to make too much noise. After stopping by the bathroom, you headed downstairs, drawn by a faint sound coming from the dining room.

And that’s when you saw him.

Daryl stood with his back to you, methodically stuffing personal items and essential gear into his worn backpack. He was already fully dressed, his crossbow slung across his back, and his familiar black poncho draped over his shoulders like armor.

He paused mid-motion, the rustle of your bare feet on the floor catching his attention. Slowly, he turned to face you.

"You’re heading out this early?" you asked, a sleepy yawn slipping out before you could stop it. You were still groggy, part of you hoping to crawl back into bed and steal a few more minutes curled up beside him.

He hesitated, his eyes dropping for a moment before he spoke in that gravelly voice of his.

"Yeah… figured I’ll be leavin’ now."

The silence that followed was familiar—weighted, tense, like so many other moments between you lately. You didn’t have to ask where he was going. You already knew.

There was a quiet determination in his expression, one that left no room for doubt: he was going to look for Rick. Or at least… whatever was left to find.

You didn’t speak right away. You just stood there, letting your eyes trace the lines of his face, committing every detail to memory like you wouldn’t see him again for a long time.

"You’re not comin’ back soon, are you?" you asked, voice strangely steady even to your own ears. But deep down, you already knew the answer—just like you knew there was nothing you could do to stop him. And you didn’t plan to.

He gave a slow shake of his head.

You sighed, weariness seeping into your bones.

"How long do you think you’ll be out there?"

He hesitated before answering.

"Don’t know… guess as long as it takes."

His tone was calm, but the way his hand trembled slightly gave him away.

You stepped closer, feeling your heart swell and ache all at once. The thought of Daryl being gone for weeks—months—maybe even years, hurt in a way words couldn’t touch. But you knew this was who he was. Loyal to the end. Loving in a way that didn’t always make sense but ran deeper than most could understand.

His eyes found yours, and in them, you saw everything he didn’t say out loud:

Thank you.

I love you.

I’m sorry.

I’m scared.

You closed the distance and wrapped your arms around him—not with desperation, but with quiet strength. The kind that said “I love you” without needing the words. He held you tight, arms pulling you in like he never wanted to let go.

You stayed like that for a while, until eventually you had to part.

Your hands came up to his face, cradling him gently. You leaned in, resting your forehead against his.

"Just… don’t take too long. Okay?" you whispered, offering him the faintest of smiles.

He managed a small, sad smile in return.

"I’ll try."

You kissed him—soft, tender, and final. He responded with a kiss to your forehead that lingered, his silent promise to come back.

Then he stepped back, picking up his backpack and slinging it over one shoulder. He walked to the door, pausing for a moment before he looked back at you one last time.

"Love ya," he said simply.

You smiled faintly.

"Love you too."

And with that, he slipped out the door, closing it behind him.

You stood there, watching through the window as his figure disappeared down the road, heading toward the gates of Alexandria.

You didn’t cry this time.

You didn’t feel like you had the right to.

You loved him—and that’s why you were letting him go.

It wasn’t a breakup, though.

But it sure as hell felt like one.

✧ a/n : u don't know how much I suffered writing this. Not because of the fanfic, but because I had no idea how to write it. I had the concept, of course, but I didn't really think in how i'd develop it. 😭 I wanted to portray the reader as someone who truly believed in what Rick was trying to do for the group and the communities, and as someone who was truly loyal to his friend, even if they weren't really sure about his decisions.

✧ : and for Daryl... well, I tried to focus more on the motive behind his actions. We all know how much Daryl loves Rick, and how loyal he is to him, so it would take a very compelling reason for him to act against his brother's plans. I wanted to portray him as someone who was letting himself be carried away more by the pain and guilt he was bearing since Glenn's death, as well as by the desperate need to make up to Maggie for the consequences his past actions had on her life and will have on her baby's. He didn't want to betray Rick, and he didn't intend to either, but his silence—his complicity with Oceanside, his choice to side with Maggie—was born from love, not defiance.

✧ : Daryl wasn't trying to destroy Rick's vision. He just couldn't believe in it anymore when the cost of that vision was so much suffering for the people he cared about. In his eyes, Rick had stopped listening, stopped seeing the pain behind the peace he was trying to build. So Daryl acted in the only way he knew how: through instinct, through protection, through loyalty to those who had already lost too much. It wasn't about turning his back on Rick —it was about trying to hold onto what he still had, before it slipped away too.

✧ : anyways, I hope you enjoyed this little one-shot I wrote for you. I put all my love and effort into making it, so I wish I lived up to your expectations.

✧ : apologies for any spelling or grammatical errors I may have. English is not my native language, and despite having an advanced level, I still struggle with some things.

✧ : any comments or feedback are appreciated. thank you so much for taking some of your time to read this!

[the-shipper-center]

How to know if you've been manipulated into believing you are an anti

> Guilt by Association:

If you've been told that liking certain content automatically makes you a bad person or aligns you with harmful groups, that's a red flag. This tactic plays on guilt and can push you to reject things based on fear, not your own beliefs.

> Pressure to Conform

Have you ever felt like you must agree with a group or face being ostracized or attacked? Manipulation often relies on social pressure to force people into one perspective.

> Misinformation

If the arguments against proship rely on scare tactics or misinformation (like over-generalizing harmful behavior or falsely equating fiction to reality), that’s a sign that you may have been influenced through fear rather than facts.

> Silencing Nuanced Conversations

If you’ve noticed that discussions around proship/anti-ship in your circles discourage nuance, critical thinking, or even hearing out differing opinions, it’s likely you’ve been steered into a rigid belief system.

> Disconnecting from Your Own Likes

If you once enjoyed certain ships or fictional works but now feel uncomfortable or ashamed to admit it(without any clear personal reason)ask yourself if that shame was imposed from outside.

> Shaming for Thought Crimes

If you've been made to feel guilty or ashamed for simply thinking about a ship or idea, even if you’ve never acted on it, that’s a form of thought policing. This tactic implies that even private enjoyment of fiction is wrong and that you're only “good” if your thoughts align with a certain group.

> Cult-Like Group Dynamics

Does the community you’re involved in enforce strict rules about what can and can’t be enjoyed, isolating or attacking anyone who doesn’t follow the norm? Manipulative groups often demand loyalty to a single cause or belief system, punishing deviation with social exclusion, harassment, or cancellation.

> You Feel Conflicted

If deep down you still enjoy certain ships or fandom content but feel torn between your personal enjoyment and the pressure to conform, take this as a sign. Internal conflict often arises when you’re being pushed into beliefs that don’t align with your authentic self.

> Over-reliance on “Influencers”

If you’ve formed your opinions solely based on what online personalities or fandom influencers have said, you might want to rethink. Influencers can sometimes push their own agendas, and it’s important to critically evaluate their claims rather than blindly accepting them.

> Redefining Terms

Have you noticed how certain communities redefine words like “abuse” or “harm” to fit their agenda? Manipulators often blur the line between fiction and reality by changing definitions. For instance, enjoying a fictional ship doesn’t mean supporting real-life harm, but some people will try to convince you otherwise to gain control over the narrative.

> Fear of Being “Canceled”

If your fear of being attacked or “canceled” is driving you to adopt anti-proship views, then your stance is likely based on external pressure, not personal conviction. The fear of social backlash can force people into silence or compliance, even when they don’t truly agree with the anti-proship movement.

> Gaslighting

If people in your fandom spaces make you question your own enjoyment of ships, telling you that your feelings are “wrong” or that “you don’t realize how harmful that content is,” you might be experiencing gaslighting. They’re trying to make you doubt your own tastes and values, convincing you to adopt theirs instead.

> Virtue Signaling

Does your involvement with anti-proship ideas feel more about proving that you’re “good” or “moral” in the eyes of others? Virtue signaling often relies on outwardly showing alignment with the “correct” opinion without encouraging deeper thought.

> Isolation

If you’ve been cut off from friends or fandoms that are proship, ask yourself if this was really your choice. Manipulators often push you to distance yourself from people or spaces that don’t align with their views, isolating you in a controlled environment where your new beliefs are constantly reinforced.

> Moral Panic Culture

Have you noticed how anti-proship rhetoric mirrors larger societal moral panics, where certain ideas or interests are exaggerated to be dangerous or harmful? These movements often rely on fear-mongering, claiming that enjoying fictional content can lead to real-world harm, without concrete evidence to support it. Being swept up in a moral panic can make you feel like you’re doing the “right” thing, but it often stifles critical thinking.

> The “Right Way” to Fandom

If you’ve been told there’s only one way to enjoy fandom and that anything outside of those strict guidelines is wrong, you’ve likely encountered gatekeeping. Fandom is about exploring different interests, genres, and relationships. There’s no “right” or “wrong” way to engage with fictional content, but manipulation tactics thrive by enforcing rigid boundaries and shaming those who deviate.

Vs the ACTUAL Antis - how they behave?

In many fandom spaces, the term "anti" refers to individuals or groups who position themselves against certain ships, content, or fan activities, often on moral grounds. However, beneath the surface of this "moral crusade," many antis engage in harmful behaviors that revolve around bullying and censorship rather than promoting genuine discourse or protecting others from harm.

> The Focus on Bullying

Antis often claim their actions are about "protecting" people, especially minors, from harmful content. However, what they’re really doing is targeting and harassing individuals who enjoy certain ships or tropes they dislike.

Public Shaming: Antis will often single out and publicly humiliate individuals over their fandom interests, especially if they engage with “problematic” ships or tropes. This public shaming can include doxxing (releasing personal information), starting harassment campaigns, and rallying others to dogpile their target.

Harassment and Threats: Instead of engaging in productive conversation or respecting different views, antis frequently resort to sending hate messages, insults, and even death threats to people who engage in content they think is inappropriate. This extreme bullying behavior shows that the goal isn’t about morality—it’s about control.

Name-Calling and Labels: Antis are quick to label anyone who disagrees with them as dangerous or morally corrupt. They’ll often call people “abusers,” “pedophiles,” or “incest apologists” simply for enjoying certain fictional ships, even if those claims have no basis in reality.

> Censorship Over Discussion

Antis don’t engage in thoughtful dialogue or debate—they aim to censor and silence any opinions that don’t align with theirs.

Mass Reporting: One common tactic is organizing mass reporting campaigns to get fan art, fanfiction, or even entire blogs taken down. They’ll flag content they disagree with, often manipulating platform policies to enforce bans or removals, regardless of whether the content actually violates terms of service.

Policing Tags and Spaces: Antis frequently attempt to take control of fandom spaces by policing tags, platforms, and even fan events. They demand that certain ships or content be removed or banned, claiming that those things "shouldn't exist," and attacking creators who refuse to comply with their demands.

Gatekeeping: Antis often act as gatekeepers, deciding who is “allowed” to participate in fandom and who isn’t. They’ll dictate what types of content are "acceptable" and label any content or creator they disagree with as problematic, often pushing for full exclusion of that person or fandom from certain spaces.

> Hypocrisy in Morality Policing

Claiming to Protect While Harming: While antis claim they are trying to protect marginalized groups or young people from harmful content, they’re actually perpetuating harm by bullying, attacking, and driving people away from fandom spaces.

Attacking Minors: Ironically, many antis target the very people they claim to protect. Minors who engage with fandom content—whether they’re artists, writers, or just fans—are often harassed, attacked, and shamed for their interests, even if those interests are completely harmless. Antis frequently ignore the well-being of the people they supposedly advocate for, focusing instead on being “right.”

> Bullying and Censorship Aren't Fandom Values

At its core, fandom is about creativity, exploration, and community. It’s a space where people can engage with fiction in personal ways, often as a means of expressing themselves or processing difficult emotions. Antis, however, turn fandom into a battleground for moral purity, where bullying and censorship are used to force conformity.

If your fandom experience is being dictated by fear of harassment or being censored, it’s important to step back and recognize that this behavior is not normal or healthy. Fandom should be a place of joy, not a place of judgment. No one should be bullied for their fictional preferences, and everyone deserves the freedom to engage with media in their own way. Don’t let antis rob you of the freedom to explore and create.

[nuggetpool-hi]

Guess who watched X-Men origins again

OK SO I got THOUGHTS of this movie but specially Wade's fight style because it's really similar to our current Deadpool's fighting style... so yeah I wanna yap about that hi

WELL FIRST OF wanna talk a lil about Victor, Logan and Wade's different styles... from a mortal's view point I am no expert on this just insane about these movies and I need to write my thoughts or i'll explode

Starting with Victor!! the ultimate kittycat girlypop

I love his kitty self I'm sorry ANYWAY EXAMPLES

OKAY SO VICTOR. Victor's style is obviously very animalistic but also stylized, he makes the fight a show for himself! He likes to hunt and he tries to always give chase or play around a bit before the kill, just like a cat playing with his food!

AND IF you pay attention to the start of the movie, this game he's got with his target isn't initially how he fought, he kinda developed it as the years went by and the eviler he got the more he played with his food. The first few wars he goes to he's fighting like a human soldier, then you can see him slip up some animal jumps and uses his claws more until at the end he's full on predator chasing his prey (just like when he captures Scott, my god I love that scene he's terryfing)

AND A BIG DIFFERENCE BETWEEN HIM AND LOGAN (that I will also talk about later I guess) is that with this play thing Victor has going on it SHOWS that he THINKS about the stragety when fighting, he's aware of his surroundings and his target's strenghs and weaknesses, he's good at coming up with solutions on the spot (see his fight with John, he can predict where he's going to teleport and catch him) and how to give a good chase without losing WHILE LOGAN WELL, at least in this movie he seems very lost when fighting?? he mostly just launches at his target and attacks, if the target runs away he chases, very animalistic but in a feral-based on instincts way... prolly why he coulnt win agaisnt Victor at first, because he was being blinded by his rage while Victor was quite literally playing with him lmao

ANYWAY LOGAN our favorite traumatized babygirl

and boy does he suffer in this one aughh EXAMPLES

Now you must be wondering why did I put the bathroom scene, well I feel like it represents Logan's general situation pretty well! (and its silly let me be), hes confused destroying everything and just keeps making it worse every time he tries to fix it.

The thing about Logan in this movie is that he's honestly just- confused and angry from the moment he killed his father, he runs away over and over again from EVERYTHING and he's constantly being manipulated BY EVERYONE!! Poor man has no idea what to do with himself of who he can actually trust but damn he tries, his enviroment is contantly changing and he's trying his best to adapt but he does it in a messy way.

The way he fights and acts in general is animalistic, yes, but more of the "scared dog attacks" kind of way, he's always acting on his instinct that it's mostly led by anger. When he fights he just throws himself and tries to slash whatever he can, he runs he hides and then when he gets the chance to he attacks again.

He constantly has little to no control of the situtation WHICH IS SPECIALLY SEEN pre-adamantium where he keeps losing to Victor because unlike him- he has no plan, he's being manipulated and kept blind of everything ON PURPOUSE which obviouly puts him in a disadvantage so yeah.

AFTER he gets the adamantium you can see his skills strengen with his knowledge, the more he lears about his situation the more focused he is and his fighting it's cleaner, he still moslty just launches himself head first into fights BUT he's not running away, he's able to evaluate his situation and adapt (See his fight with Gambit, he looks at him when running away and then destroys the stair so Gambit can't run away OR with Deadpool where he decides to gain height as a way to create the space needed to evaluate his enemy?? that one might be a lil bit of a stretch tho)

WADE WILSON THE ULTIMATE CUTIE PRINCESS

let's ignore how dirty they did him ok...

OKAY SO SADLY- The bullet scene is pretty much the only scene where we see him fight and it's honestly not enough to tell how his normal style is BUT I WILL SAY his general style is fancy to look at and scarily effective (which is mostly seen with our current Wade but you can see a bit in origins deadpool) he makes a show for everyone to see, which is also his stragedy to make himself even better at combat! He uses a lot of fancy movements and acrobatics that help him AND takes his enemies off-guard, confusing them as where they should attack or what he's going to hit?? anyway-

Comparison time yippieee THIS IS WHAT THIS POST IS SUPPOSED TO BE ABOUT LMAO

I did not get side tracked idk what you mean.... and now seeing it over and over I'm realizing not that noticeable.... so it's just not that much to talk about oops

LOOK AT THIS WADE, LOOK AT THE MOVEMENTS HE DOES WITH HIS LEGS!! HIS HANDS??? THIS MAN IS SHOWING OFF he's using all kinds of acrobatics and fancy movements while fighting, he attacks with his hands and dodges using mostly his legs, he's using all he has!! and it's making Logan lose BECAUSE LOGAN CAN'T FOCUS!! specially since he's so "target locked will attack", Wade makes it SO HARD for him to focus on a pose long enough to actually stab him also Logan ain't too good at dodging, I'm guessing it could be because he heals? dunno

now what inmediately came to my mind upon rewatch was THIS scene (maybe because I saw it recently who knows)

THE SETTING IS SO SIMILAR!! Wade is using a lot of fancy movements to get up, dodge and attack all way too fast for Logan to process, once again Logan is looking everywhere confused about where to aim bc this silly red guy it's dancing on his face and he's struggling to keep up JUST LIKE IN ORIGINS except well he IS able to get a hit bahah

Dodges like crazy, jumps over Logan (he did in origins too) just moves a lot between every attack

Actually now that I think about it Wade feels a bit less effective in the car, like yes sure he's putting up a good fight but Logan still feels like he's leading it BECAUSE WADE IS MORE EFFECTIVE WHEN HE HAS MORE SPACE!! he likes to be able to move around and do gimnastics while Logan it's a lot better the closer he gets to his target so omg yeah... ALSO LIKE WADE STILL TRIES TO MOVE AROUND he shoves Logan away from him, he gets out of the car choking logan with a seatbelt and gets to the back, he tries to create space because that's where his speciality WHILE LOGAN keeps trying to get closer to have him in his power, which he gets to do since the car isn't allowing Wade to move as freely as he would want to...

AND YOU CAN SEE HIS FANCY MOVEMENTS WITH FRANCIS TOO he's constantly circuling him, dodging and spinning while Francis is just trying to get a hit, Wade keeps his enemies chasing him when he fight THAT'S the way he controls it and gets it wherever he wants aughh

ANYWAY YEAH I think that's it, don't really know how much sense any of this does since I've been writing it on-and off the whole day lmao it's so messy but yeah feel free to add onto it I'd love to see opinions on this wahoo

Might keep talking about stuff I find interesting in the movies bahah this has been funn