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hannyoontify · 10 months ago

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die with a smile - kim mingyu

member | husband!mingyu x reader

genre | dystopian!au, apocalypse!au, angst, fluff

word count | 1.7k

synopsis | if the world was ending, mingyu would want to be next to you

warnings | mentions of death, blood, doom’s day?, reader has a smaller build than mingyu, you can guess the ending..

notes | yes, this was based off the legendary collab between lady gaga and bruno mars’ and the song ‘die with a smile’ pls check it out if you haven't this is literally one of the best songs ive ever listened to in the year of our lord 2024

can be read as a stand-alone or as a prequel to this mingyu fic!

‘Come on, slowpoke! Catch up!’

You were running in a green meadow and the tall, swaying grass that reached right below Mingyu’s hip tickled his knees with every step he took in your direction. The view in front of him was the definition of a living dream. The meadow went past the horizon for as long as the eye could see and the bright blue sky seemed large and vast as it loomed over him. The big, round clouds seemed to sway with the wind that blew gently past him, scattering his bangs that were swept across his forehead. Up ahead, you continued to run and skip through the boundless field, a bright giggle leaving your lips as you continued to taunt Mingyu.

‘Last one is the rotten egg!’

A part of Mingyu thought that he would be okay with dying like this.

‘Wait up!’ He picked up his pace and jogged towards you. ‘Baby-'

A loud rumble interrupted his next words as the bright and clear sky turned dark and murky. It was a gradual change, like storm clouds rolling on a sunny day. The rich, healthy grass under his feet began to shrivel up and dry as the dirt ground began to crack and shake.

‘Babe? Mingyu-!’ And right in front of him, the ground gave away and swallowed up the love of his life whole.

‘NO! [NAME] NO-‘ Mingyu reached for you, his outstretched hand too far away to grab your flailing limbs. ‘[NAME]! NO!’

“NO!” Mingyu jackknifed awake, his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead and with a hand still outstretched for someone who could never be saved.

“Another nightmare?” Your voice seemed to snap Mingyu back in reality. He cleared his throat and climbed out of his tattered sleeping bag to sit by you at the entrance of the cave. The sky was similar to his dreams; dark and murky but now, there was also red. Everywhere. Mingyu gave up trying to differentiate what the different reds were: blood, lava, fire. It didn’t matter. All of it was going to kill him in some way or another.

He settled down next to you and rested his head on your shoulder. “It was the meadow one again.” Mingyu mumbled quietly. Although the sky was permanently the same kind of color all hours of the day, you and your husband tried your best to stick to some kind of circadian rhythm to try and keep yourselves alive for as long as possible. Right now, according to our bodies, it was the middle of the night and you were on guard duty.

“What do you think it means?” You asked quietly as you reached up to run your fingers through Mingyu’s matted hair. Neither of you bothered to care about the blood on your fingers or the grime in his hair. You were far too deep into this to care about hygiene anymore.

“We’re all going to die,” Mingyu mumbled. “But I refuse to watch you die in front of me like that dream. I want to be next to you until our very last moment.”

You pressed your nose into your husband’s temple and breathed in a deep breath. It was random love confessions like these that reminded you of how much you loved Mingyu’s spontaneity before The Incident happened.

Before the first asteroid hit, you and Mingyu were a normal couple. You each had your respective jobs; Mingyu as the head of his own architecture firm and you as a research analyst at a biomedical tech company, and both jobs was more than enough to financially support your little party of two. The two of you spent your days together exploring the city and traveling the world together. On random Friday evenings, he would show up to your office 20 minutes before you got off with a bouquet of flowers and sheepish smile. Although he understood nothing about your work, he would ask questions and listen to your responses with a loving look in his eyes. He would hold your hand in the hallways, your matching rings glinting under the fluorescent lights as you clocked out.

That childhood, innocent side of Mingyu disappeared after the world turned upside down. He became more dark and serious, almost never cracking jokes and fixated on keeping both of you alive. He also had a rotation of nightmares that visited him every night. They were different variations of the same vision; losing you first as the world ended.

“Guess what,” You whispered. “I got us some food. Real food.”

Mingyu’s ears perked up at that. “Food?”

The past 48 hours were full of rationing Haribo gummies, water, and granola bars. Although it was a difficult switch for you to get accustomed to, it was even harder for your husband, who was much bigger and needed more nutrients than the ones he received from gummies, water, and granola bars. It pained you to see the man you loved constantly struggle with hunger but didn’t even let out a single peep of complaint to you.

“They were really desperate for first aid so I did an emergency medical procedure in exchange for some instant camping food.” So that explained the new blood stains on your fingers. Mingyu kept his eyes trained on your trembling, bloody hands as you tried to open a package of camping food. The label read ‘Instant Lasagna. 2 Servings’.

Mingyu could already feel his mouth watering at the thought of real food. And lasagna? That was a total luxury that almost nobody could afford right now.

“Baby, can you start up a fire and boil some water? We need hot water for this.”

Fifteen minutes later, and the food was ready. Your eyes glistened with a newfound joy as you opened the seal and held out the first spoonful of lasagna towards Mingyu. “Take a bite and let me know how it tastes.”

He shook his head. “No, you first.”

“Mingyu, I know how much you’ve been struggling because of our rations. If you don’t eat first, I’m going to get mad.”

And he definitely didn’t want that. He took the first bite.

“Oh god, that’s heavenly.” Mingyu’s eyes almost rolled to the back of his head as he groaned. As a head of a thriving architecture firm, Mingyu’s had his fair share of luxury dinners and fine dining in his 13 years of working, but this single spoon of instant lasagna cooked in a dark cave while the world was reaching its expiration date was better than anything he had ever tasted in his entire life.

You beamed. “Really? That’s great. Have another bite-“

Mingyu held up his hand to stop you. “Your turn. I refuse to take another bite until you do.”

“Touche.”

This was your favorite position. Your back pressed against the front of Mingyu’s chest with his strong arms wrapped around you. It had always been your ultimate favorite way to cuddle, especially because Mingyu liked to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck at random intervals and deep in a deep breath that tickled the hairs on the back of your neck. The current temperature (read: fire, lava, the basically non-existent ozone) would usually have you push Mingyu and complain that it was too hot, but now, every second counted.

Another asteroid shower had started not too long ago. Usually, this meant packing up everything and moving further east, but both you and Mingyu came to a silent mutual agreement that you were too tired to continue. The two of you were beginning to come to terms with the fact that the world was ending and your time together was also coming to a close.

With every distant thud you heard in the distance, you felt Mingyu take in a shaky breath and nuzzle his face further into your neck. “Gyu…”

“Shhh… I just wanna hold you right now.”

“Gyu, it’s getting closer,” You felt his arms tighten around you. He also knew what that meant. “Lie down with me.”

Mingyu spread his sleeping bag across the stone floor of the cave and gently lowered your head onto the floor, treating you so gently, like you were a piece of glass bound to shatter at any moment. He made himself comfortable next to you, letting you use his arm as a pillow as you buried your face into his chest. “Can you hold me like this?”

“Of course. Today, tomorrow, and every other day you ask me to.” Mingyu kissed the top of your head and sighed.

The two of you remained in silence like that for a while, your sweaty skins slick against each other from the heat, but you didn’t care. You were being held by the man you loved the most. The resounding thuds of the falling asteroids served as a constant reminder for the impending doom waiting for the two of you at the end of this as it drew closer and closer to the cave you were in.

“Look at me, my love,” Mingyu’s voice was ever so gentle and loving. He gently tipped your chin upwards to face him and his eyes roamed your face, as if he was committing every bit of it to memory. “You were the best thing that ever happened to me. Thank you for allowing me to love you and be loved back.”

You smiled. “I’m going to find you in my next life. I promise.”

“That, I won’t doubt for a single moment, my love.” Mingyu dipped his neck lower to capture your lips with his. Soft and gentle. Like Mingyu. A kiss that represented every kiss the two of you ever shared and the ones you will never be able to have anymore. “I love you so much.”

Through your bleary eyes, you tried to commit every part of Mingyu to memory. Under all the grime, sweat, and blood, was the Mingyu you first fell in love with during your freshman year of college. The boy who sheepishly asked for your number after the lecture only to lose to you horribly on your first date at your campus’ bowling alley.

“I love you too.” You whispered.

Mingyu smiled. “Good night, [Name]. Thank you for being mine.”

“Good night, Mingyu. I love you.” Your lips tugged up into a bright smile.

“I’ll love you in every universe. Wherever you go, that’s where I’ll follow.”

reblogs and feedback are always appreciated ^-^

#hannyoontify.works #seventeen #svt #mingyu #kim mingyu #seventeen mingyu #mingyu fluff #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #mingyu angst #mingyu oneshot #seventeen imagines #seventeen fic #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #mingyu x reader #mingyu imagines

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andypantsx3 · 2 years ago

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READY OR KNOT | 1 | TODOROKI SHOUTO x READER

SUMMARY: Todoroki Shouto is so unsettlingly beautiful, you’re certain he has to be an omega. That is, until a chance encounter with a pushy alpha reveals you were incredibly mistaken—and the surprises don’t stop there. Shouto's suddenly mystifying behavior adds another layer of complexity to an already confusing inter-agency investigation. It would be so much easier to figure things out—and suppress your growing feelings—if only Shouto would stop being so strangely attentive to you... TAGS/WARNINGS: pro hero au, fem + afab reader, omegaverse, alpha shouto, beta reader, misunderstandings, courting behavior, slightly case fic-y, undertones of sexual violence (not between main pairing), aged-up characters, eventual smut, 18+ minors please dni! LENGTH: 4.6k, 1st of 7 chapters

Tetsutetsu’s apartment was exploding with people by the time you made it in from the cold.

Even from outside, you could hear the chatter of dozens of voices, the thumping bass of a distant party playlist. The front door was practically wedged shut by all the bodies blocking it, and you had to suck in a breath as you squeezed yourself through, slithering through what seemed to be every single employee of the Pink Riot agency—a plethora of bulky pro heroes stuffed in among lanky support techs and sleepy-eyed case analysts.

Inside, it stank of warm beer with a slightly sweeter, sharper liquor undertone. Your nose wrinkled. You could only imagine what the scent was like to your alpha and omega coworkers, grateful you had a beta’s dulled sense of smell, and no innate reaction to the physical proximity of other secondary genders. The space was already almost overwhelming as it was, the press of people nearly claustrophobic, although no one else looked like they minded much.

You shoved yourself through the crowd, squeezing through people, somewhat regretting how late you’d gotten here. You hoped there was still something good to drink.

In your defense, you’d gotten bogged down with a bombshell of a new case at the agency, something Mina had pulled you aside to talk about on your way out to the party. She’d meant for you to pick it up Monday, as you couldn’t take any action until a supervising hero had been assigned to you. But it was so unlike any other case you’d been handed in your years at Pink Riot that you’d immediately yanked your coat back off and holed yourself up at your desk, poring over the information in shock.

The case file told you that there was a rogue pro hero harassing and assaulting the omegas in Bunkyo ward—the very ward the Pink Riot agency operated in.

What was more, local authorities suspected someone from the agencies within Bunkyo itself, considering the attacks were exclusively confined to the ward and had so far never deviated. The police had been alerted to the fact that a hero might be involved when one of the omegas who had been attacked last night had escaped, shaken but untouched, and reported their aggressor attempting to strap quirk suppressors on them—tech that was almost exclusively a tool of the heroics trade.

And so all Bunkyo-based agencies had been asked to internally investigate their heroes, with mandatory out-of-agency supervising heroes to be assigned to the cases as well, to ensure everything was above board and no cover ups were being staged. And you, as Mina’s personal friend and therefore the case analyst she trusted most with a sensitive file like this, had been assigned the task.

And it was already almost too mind-boggling for you to bear.

You plowed your way towards the kitchen, eager to chase away the idea of any of your hero coworkers as the perpetrator. You liked and trusted all of the heroes Pink Riot had on call, and hoped so desperately that another agency was at fault here. You couldn’t imagine a single one of them being responsible for something like this. You couldn’t imagine the harasser themself attending this very party.

Once in the kitchen, you discovered that Tetsutetsu had invited more than just the Pink Riot agency itself—he had also apparently invited a plethora of heroes from his former UA days. Sero Hanta and Uraraka Ochako were propped up in the kitchen with Mina and Kirishima, smiling and chatting, while Iida Tenya stood next to them, looking, as usual, like he was on the verge of a hernia. Monoma Neita was skulking in a corner, along with a couple of lower-level heroes you recognized as Tetsu’s Class B friends.

Mina perked up immediately when she caught sight of you, hopping off the counter at Kirishima’s side, beckoning you closer with a hot pink nail.

“You have to taste this disgusting thing Tetsu made,” she told you gleefully, gesturing at something vaguely gelatinous on the stove. You recoiled reflexively, even as Mina ladled a generous portion into a plastic cup for you, passing it over.

You did not like the weight of it in your hand—and the smell of it, even to your duller senses, was not exactly appetizing, more nail polish remover in profile than anything.

“Wow, this looks almost as lovely as the new case file. How generous of you,” you intoned, taking a small, investigative sip. The taste zipped down your spine all the way to your toes, so alcoholic you could almost taste an emergency room visit.

But it figured. Pro heroes in general were a hard bunch to get drunk, their metabolisms fast and their bodies honed to withstand limits a normal person could never. You imagined this was Tetsu’s own invention based on years of personal research.

Mina sloshed her own cup at you, bright-eyed as she normally was, but otherwise looking unruffled. “Tetsu and Eiji already have a bet going which of them can put back more of this, but my bet is on me,” she grinned. “They’re behind a cup already.”

You winced. “Such responsible agency heads I have.”

Mina practically cackled. “You love it.”

You couldn’t help the fond smile that pulled at your mouth, listening to her bright laughter. “I do.”

And it was true, after years at the Pink Riot agency you were spoiled for anywhere else.

Your caseload was broad and interesting, Mina and Kirishima the perfect amount of invested but trusting, always caring about the results you brought in for the safety they brought Bunkyo ward, but never micromanaging you or demanding the impossible. The agency was a little bit smaller than other agencies founded by members of their former class—a mid-sized, fairly-closely knit operation that prioritized action and minimized bureaucracy.

And it was a sort of family operation. Mina was an omega, small and bright and totally beautiful the way so many omegas were, the warmness of her personality like a magnet. And Kirishima was her bonded alpha—fairly friendly and easy-going for one, you thought—but strong, firm in his resolve, and deeply committed.

You liked them, liked their relationship, and liked how their traits translated to their management of their joint agency. You liked how the agency had basically sprung up around them, filled to the brim with good people. And so yeah, Mina was right. You did love it.

“Make sure you unwind,” Mina ordered you, flashing a pink nail in your face. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that it’s been like two hours since I saw you disappear with that case file.”

Your cheeks heated. “Did you know some agency heads like it when their employees do their jobs?”

Mina grinned wickedly, then made a sort of clucking noise. “Did you know that some agency heads are no funsies? I like when my employees do their jobs and still have time for a social life.”

A smile tugged at your mouth. Your social calendar had never been so full as when you started working at Pink Riot, their rosters absolutely packed with outgoing heroes. Someone or other was always throwing a party, organizing a celebratory dinner when an especially big case was closed, or dashing across the floor yelling “drinks on me!” after nailing a particularly notorious villain.

Between the agency and your own friends you thought you were kept rather busy. But the sudden, shifting look of undue interest on Mina’s face told you she thought otherwise.

“When was the last time you went on a date, hmm?” she asked, waggling her eyebrows. “I never catch you smelling like anyone. Looking for anyone here?”

“And who told you you could smell me?” you demanded.

Mina cackled. “It’s not like I can turn my nose off. Plus you smell nice and comforting. Very beta. I wouldn’t stop smelling you even if I could.”

Your ears went hot. Alphas and omegas were always so nosy and inquisitive, a byproduct of being able to smell way too much for your comfort, a fact you and your circle of beta friends never missed a chance to bemoan.

And this was not the first time you’d been told as much, most betas apparently smelling some level of chill and less intrusive than the insistent scents of alphas and omegas. You didn’t exactly understand how something could smell chill, but enough people had said it that you accepted it.

“Well then it’s good I’m not polluting that with other smells,” you said. “Now mind your business.”

Mina’s grin was sharp as she reached over to ladle more of Tetsu’s concoction into your cup, a small revenge. “Fine but keep your options open tonight! I know plenty of nice beta boys I can set you up with—there’s a couple of analysts from Ingenium’s crowd here tonight.”

You nodded, affecting sincerity, although you had absolutely no plan to follow through. You were going to find your agency friends, go ham on some apps, and then head back home just as soon as Mina and Kirishima ended the night the way they usually did—locked mouth to mouth after drinking a little too much, causing a scene.

You waved Mina away, poking your head back out the kitchen door and surveying the rest of the party. Over near the couch, you caught a flash of a couple of your fellow case analysts in conversation with Asui Tsuyu, a beta hero at your agency who you got on well with. Your people exactly.

However, no sooner had you started to push back into the crowd than something slammed into your shoulder, sending you stumbling back into the wall. Your drink splashed right up over your shoulder, cold and biting. You let out a strangled noise, turning your head on impulse and catching a mouthful of hair.

“Oh my god, I am sooo sorry,” a soft voice said. You realized you’d collided with an omega analyst from another Bunkyo agency—a girl you vaguely remembered from a joint case a few years ago. She was small, petite, and delicately pretty in the way of most omegas. And she had also managed to empty nearly the entirety of your cup onto you.

“Shit, shit—I got your shirt wet!” she said, yanking herself back from you. She looked a little glassy-eyed, but genuinely apologetic, and she wiped at your shoulder with her bare hand. Definitely a bit drunk.

“No—it’s fine,” you told her, attempting to duck her hand. “I also didn’t see you!”

The omega girl didn’t look reassured however. She frowned, pausing over you—then suddenly slithered right out of her cardigan, throwing it over your shoulders.

“We’ll hide it like that. Please take it,” she said, her delicate fingers flitting back and forth over your now-covered shoulder, like she still itched to fix something. The cardigan was soft and warm, and even you could tell it smelled good—a soft, powdery, classically omegan scent.

“It’s really fine—” you insisted, immediately shrugging the cardigan back off, though you appreciated the gesture. You glanced down at your shoulder, surveying the damp patch that was slowly soaking closer to your boob. “It’s clear—it will dry in a couple of minutes and no one will be any the wiser. It already stinks like alcohol in here anyway.”

The omega girl hesitated as you handed her sweater back to her. She leaned in to sniff you tentatively. “Are you sure? I really am so sorry. Your mate is going to be so mad, now you can’t really smell you over the vodka unless you get in close—”

You held up a hand, sending her a reassuring smile. “I don’t have a mate, so there’s no problem. I promise.”

You did not add that as a beta, your pool of potential mates was limited to other betas, and that no beta’s sense of smell was enough to get worked up over this. Alphas and omegas tended to forget that not everyone was as sensitive as they were.

She bit her lip, the gesture pretty, but looked somewhat mollified. “You’re sure?” she ventured one last time.

You nodded. “Totally sure. I appreciate the gesture though.”

She nodded, still looking hesitant, and you decided there was only one way to put an end to this.

“Nice to see you, though. Maybe I will catch you around later!” you said, waving her off firmly. You quickly abandoned your now empty cup on a nearby table and turned to head back into the living room. You spotted Tsuyu’s head of dark green hair through the crowd of shoulders, a homing beacon in the dim.

As you charted an unsteady path through the crush of people, you noted several more heroes and analysts from other agencies, including Kaminari Denki and a beaming Midoriya Izuku, crammed into a corner and chatting animatedly to—oh.

Your cheeks flushed. Pro hero Shouto was here.

The other hero stood tall and solemnly handsome across from Midoriya, just as maddeningly gorgeous as always. You, like every other person with working eyeballs, had long nursed a tiny bit of a celebrity crush on him, as he was literally the most beautiful person on earth—a fact evidenced by his now six-year running sweep of Tokyo Beat magazine’s cutest hero award.

In your time at Pink Riot, you’d worked a couple of joint cases with Shouto’s agency and met him a few times in passing. You’d always found him to be a little bit intense, but kind, thoughtful, straightforward, and diligent. He was every bit the reassuring hero the media made him out to be, and even more striking in person. He also always wore scent patches flush at the sides of his neck, concealing what his secondary gender was from prying noses, although you’d always sort of suspected he had to be an omega.

He was tall and solid and strong in the way of most pro heroes. But his features were so finely-wrought, so strangely graceful and elegant for a man, that you would have put significant amounts of money down on his omega status.

Not that it mattered. Betas really only dated betas, and alphas really only omegas, so Shouto’s status wasn’t much to you, regardless of what it was.

You slipped past, averting your eyes, wondering absently if an omega like Todoroki Shouto ever encountered harassment like the victims in your newest case file. Maybe his scent blockers were for this very purpose—hiding his omega status so he didn’t run the risk. You imagined with a face like his, he would be sure to garner migraine-inducing levels of undue interest.

This thought was suddenly arrested, however, when a hand pressed to your chest, shoving you back into the wall you were sidling past.

Your breath wooshed out of your lungs as a strangled “fwuuh” noise escaped you. Your gaze jerked up to find an alpha you somewhat recognized was holding you against the wall, grinning in an incredibly unsettling way.

Fuzzily, you matched his face to one of the techs from the support department, someone you occasionally saw at work functions but never worked directly with. Support interfaced mainly with the heroes, mending their tech, inventing new items, and—if Mina’s complaints were to be believed—running up quite the bill for the agency with their experimentation.

“Can I—help you?” you garbled out, staring the alpha down.

He leaned in, leery, slurring, “What’sa pretty li’l thing like you doin’ here, huh?”

He smelled strongly of Tetsutestu’s horrid concoction, like the alcohol was literally seeping from his pores. You frowned, shifting uncomfortably under his hand. It was large, and too-warm against your shoulder, and the desire to turn and bite it welled up in your mouth.

“Can you get off me?” you asked, grabbing the alpha by the wrist. A support tech though he was, his hold on you was firm, and your grip didn’t dislodge him. He clung to your sweater, his gaze glassy but intense.

He closed his eyes, nose twitching like he was-–ew—like he was scenting you. “Aww come on baby. A li’l omega like you? There’s no need to pr’tend you don’t want this.”

Your brows furrowed, confusion bubbling up inside you. A little omega like you? What the fuck was he talking about? Was he that blasted?

“You have three seconds before I bite you,” you said, certain that would be clear enough, even if he was too drunk to tell you were a beta.

But his hand didn’t move. Instead he laughed, hot and humid and smelling strongly of liquor, and he fumbled with something at his belt.

A hot wave of fear suddenly washed over you, a stab of panic lancing your heart. He wasn’t going to expose himself right here, was he? You pushed back against the wall, feeling entrapped, yanking at his wrist harder to get him off of you.

“I’m not an omega,” you said loudly. “And I’m not interested, now get—”

The alpha’s hand was gone. You blinked, suddenly finding his face missing too, your vision gone entirely gray and strangely…knitted?

“Do not touch her,” a deep voice intoned, and you realized you were staring at a broad back, clad in a handsome gray sweater. You tipped your head back, your gaze fixing on a suspiciously familiar mop of scarlet and white hair.

Shouto. Pro hero Shouto had put himself in between you and the asshole alpha.

A thrill raced down your spine.

“The fuck I won’t,” a snort issued over one of Shouto’s strong shoulders.

There was a small, silent moment where you watched Shouto’s head tilt just the tiniest bit. He didn’t say anything in return—but a sudden, creeping unease slithered over your senses, raising the hair on the back of your neck. An audible hush fell over the people nearest you, though you couldn’t see what exactly was happening, caged between Shouto’s back and the wall.

You could just make out Shouto’s scent patches, perfectly even against his neck like always, and wondered whether they would help—-if the alpha couldn’t smell Shouto was an omega, maybe he thought he would respect his boundaries more?

“Dude—” someone hissed, from somewhere near the alpha, just as Shouto spoke once more.

“You will leave,” he intoned in that deep tone again. His voice was soft, placid—but the feeling of unease grew within you, a strange itch under your skin. You had the sudden urge to flee, but one of Shouto’s hands closed over your wrist, as a cerulean eye caught yours over his shoulder. “You…please stay.”

You could do nothing but nod, your feet practically freezing in place, the desire to obey subsuming your entire brain. What the hell was happening?

As Shouto turned back to face the alpha again, that hunted feeling grew stronger, like there was something in the apartment that you should be very, very wary of. Your throat started to close up, and your breath came a little short.

The room was so suddenly silent that you could hear the nervous shift of the people beyond Shouto, and you caught the sound of the alpha suddenly stumbling back.

“You’re—are you fucking Ordering me?” The alpha asked, but you could hear that he was still backing away.

The question crawled right under your skin along with the unsettled feeling.

An Order. As in, an Alpha Order. From Shouto? Pretty, kind, patient, careful Shouto? Classic omega material Shouto?

Was…using an Order on an alpha, and it was working?

Your head spun with the mismatch between Shouto’s face and the latent command in his tone. It was almost too strange to be contemplated, and yet here it was playing out in front of you.

Shouto, for his part, didn’t bother answering the question. “I believe I asked you to leave,” he said firmly. His voice carried an inflection that sliced through the air like a knife.

“Sorry, Todoroki, he’s super fucking drunk—I’ll get him out of here,” another voice said, one you recognized as a different support tech.

It sounded like he didn’t need to expend the effort, however, as the alpha’s footsteps were already beating a hasty retreat. The other support tech’s footsteps followed, his pace clipped on the hardwood.

As soon as they were out of view, the suffocating feeling all but evaporated. You could almost feel the sigh of relief around the room, and the line of Shouto’s shoulders untensed.

He turned to you slowly, drawing in a deep breath. His normally blank expression had been exchanged for something troubled, his perfect eyebrows knitted in concern, his full mouth pursed up like he’d just let it drop from a snarl.

He blinked down at you for a second, those distinct heterochromatic eyes flicking over you, before you found yourself suddenly crowded back into the corner, your back bumping the wall. Shouto leaned down and gave a delicate sniff at your temple, as if checking your condition.

“Are you alright?” he asked. His voice was still strange, rough with something you couldn’t name.

He was warm where he lingered over you, his shoulders broad enough that they blocked the light and cast falling shadows into the meager space between you. He was near enough that the dip of his sweater collar rasped over your shoulder, sending a swarm of tingles over your skin. You drew in a careful breath, trying to figure out just what the right answer was, coming up with nothing.

Shouto frowned over your lack of a response. His nose pressed right into your hair, and he crowded even closer, like he was trying to find the source of your discomfort—even though he’d just chased that source right through the front door.

“Your scent is difficult to find,” he murmured, his chest expanding and contracting. “It is covered by many things…” He trailed off as he seemed to find it—and then something strange happened—even stranger than the scene with the support tech alpha.

Shouto froze in place, going so unearthly still he might have been transmuted into marble. You heard his breath catch and hold in his lungs, and his fingers came up to grasp your sleeve, clutching you tightly.

You opened your mouth to ask what was wrong when a shudder swept down him, from head to toe. His grip on your wrist tightened for a moment, and a groan bubbled up from somewhere low in his throat.

“Your scent—” he rasped, then cut himself off.

He huffed out a harsh breath instead, stirring your hair, before his face dropped into the cradle of your shoulder. He breathed in, slow, measured, his mouth just barely touching the skin of your throat. You could feel his long, pretty eyelashes flutter against your skin, and the sensation sent shivers down your spine.

Something under your skin shifted in response, then.

To your utter shock, you could feel yourself tilting your head to the side, baring your neck. A strange feeling of malleability settled over you, like your bones had jellified and your muscles had atrophied.

“Shouto—?” you garbled out, unable to articulate any question beyond what the fuck was happening? You knew it had something to do with the way Shouto was most definitely not an omega after all. The thought made your brain fuzz with static.

Pretty, gentle, elegant Todoroki Shouto was an alpha. Kind, placid, beautiful Todoroki Shouto was even some kind of…distressingly strong alpha.

It crossed all the wires in your brain to think of that face possessing that kind of strength. But there was clearly something there. And you were being so weird and embarrassing about it, but you couldn’t have moved, even if you wanted to.

It felt like a short eternity, the time Shouto stood over you like that, his face pressed into your throat, your own throat bared to him. Your heartbeat pounded in your chest, simultaneously hammering a zillion miles a minute, and yet feeling slow, syrupy.

Distantly, you registered the hum of voices in the background, Tetsutetsu trying to rekindle the happy atmosphere. But Shouto was so warm over you, breathing slow and shallow, a tall, strong anchor weighing you against the wall.

It could have been minutes or hours before he finally stepped away. He looked calmer, but a little dazed. You felt the same way, mystified by what had just occurred between you.

His gaze picked over you in some kind of assessment. “You’re well?” he asked carefully. His voice was pitched low.

“Yeah,” you managed, your throat weirdly dry. “Yeah. I—thank you, Shouto.”

Shouto inclined his head in a nod. “You, as well. I don’t usually…I try not to rise to anger. But when alphas try to use their power to—” he cut himself off. His throat bobbed with some emotion you couldn’t name.

“Your scent is….calming to me.”

You nodded. The beta chill thing again, like Mina had said.

“Your friendly neighborhood beta, at your service,” you saluted him, trying to ignore the strange, lingering shiver in your limbs.

A tiny smile quirked the corner of Shouto’s mouth, but his gaze remained fixed on you, almost inhumanly intense.

“That is not quite what I mean,” he said, but did not elaborate. There was something in his voice, in the way he was looking at you that you didn’t understand, but you didn’t know him well enough to try to dig into it.

Instead you just gave him another smile, your face heating as you noticed several people around you were still watching you.

You figured it was probably time to make an escape after that little scene you had just caused, for Shouto’s reputation as well as yours. You didn’t need people thinking Shouto had been scenting you for any reason other than your apparent beta chill pill scent, especially now that people at the party would know he was an alpha.

God, he was an alpha, even with a face like that.

You waved at him, garbling out another, “Well, thanks for the save! I, um, have to be going, but I’ll see you around!” before throwing yourself back through the crowd, your head spinning.

Mina had come out of the kitchen and tried to flag you down as you passed. You waved back at her like you’d misunderstood, quickly fighting your way back to Tetsu’s front door. You felt the weight of dozens of eyes on your back, and the prick of two heterochromatic ones, somehow more certain and weightier than the others. But you didn’t turn around, eager to get out of the crowd, still reeling from what had happened.

You didn’t know how you had been mistaken for an omega by that drunk alpha, and understood even less what had possessed Shouto to sniff you all over like that, embarrassed by how much you had liked it. It most probably had something to do with how inherently non-aggressive beta scents were supposed to be, maybe helping Shouto down from how keyed up he’d been about that other alpha.

But it had still been so embarrassing and strange, the way your head had tipped right back for him, the way your limbs had gone to jelly in his hold. You hoped he’d had a little to drink too or he’d probably realize how weird you were, reacting like that.

Finally, you spilled out of Tetsu’s and into the night, the evening air cool on your heated skin. The phantom touch of Shouto’s mouth still lingered on your throat, warm and disconcerting.

You beelined for home, your head swimming. You wondered just how long it would take you to forget how very strange this evening had been.

#todoroki x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #shouto x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #character: todoroki shouto #andie's writing #tw: a/b/o

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saphronethaleph · 5 days ago

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Life Support Issues

“All right, so… where do you have the plans?” the Rebel technician asked. “An R2 unit like this could have a hundred hiding places.”

R2 beeped and whistled.

“Ah, I see,” Threepio said. “Yes, Artoo has reminded me that in fact the plans are not only in a data card, but also redundantly stored inside his own system – that’s how he was able to access the systems so readily. He will be able to transfer them quite readily through a standard data access port.”

“We can get that set up, sure,” the tech agreed, gesturing, and his assistant brought over a cable.

As he did, though, Threepio looked with interest at his old friend and counterpart.

“Were you supposed to do that?” he asked.

R2 beeped again.

“Yes, I suppose it is a good thing that you did, but I’m asking if you were supposed to,” Threepio replied. “Don’t try and play semantics with me, Artoo.”

R2 provided a long string of bleeps and whistles, and C-3PO stepped back.

“You did?” he asked. “Oh my… well, I suppose I did ask you to do that first one.”

“Do what?” the tech asked, halfway through plugging in the cable.

“Well, we were on the Death Star,” C-3PO replied. “And while rescuing Princess Leia, Master Luke and their friends, I had Artoo shut down all the garbage compactors on the Death Star, and then open the door to the one that they were in. Artoo has informed he that, in fact, he opened all the entrances shortly before we left.”

He made a displeased noise. “In addition, he flushed all the drinkable water into the black water systems, raised the temperature in the food storage areas to two hundred and fourteen degrees centigrade, and sealed the doors to every lavatory on the ship. I am also reliably informed that the artificial gravity generators have been independently set to what he calls ‘shuffle’ and that the plumbing system on the Death Star is comprehensive enough to permit him to transport fluids randomly around the entire plumbing system through a series of several thousand distributed commands which trigger on and off at random, at times ranging from five minutes to three days.”

A pause.

“Also, that reversing the gravity in the shuttle and vehicle maintenance bays produced a quite satisfying crunching sound of valuable equipment breaking. Artoo, did you really have to do all of that?”

R2 whistled, helpfully.

“Yes, I suppose they did blow up Alderaan,” Threepio admitted. “I’m just worried that at this point we might be committing war crimes ourselves.”

“This is becoming ridiculous,” Tarkin said, as blaster fire crackled up and down the corridor. “Half the ship is fighting itself and the other half is trying desperately to find a fresher.”

The firing intensified outside, then Darth Vader loomed imperiously out of the door and the various factions went from exchanging fire to fleeing.

“Have you found anything about what happened?” the Sith Lord asked, returning his attention to Tarkin. “I could believe one of these failures was accidental, but this is clearly deliberate.”

“It has been a little hard to gather information,” the Grand Moff replied, testily. “Since my analyst team is having to defend their access to a shuttle bay which might have an intact shuttle and the last Star Destroyer to try and render assistance was destroyed by two thousand turbolaser batteries all firing on it at once on automatic. But clearly there has been some sort of unauthorized access.”

“The plans,” Darth Vader said, firmly. “The Princess clearly passed them off to someone. The same group as her rescuers… Kenobi’s team. Kenobi is dead, but the smuggler ship must have had a strike team…”

He trailed off.

“But this is the work of an expert slicer,” he resumed. “A normal commando team couldn’t have done this much damage this quickly.”

“There is a report that one of my analysts found,” Tarkin said. “That a golden protocol droid and a blue-white astromech droid were acting suspiciously near Docking Bay 327.”

“Ah,” Darth Vader said, his tone somewhat different. “That explains everything. In fact, I am suspicious that there must be something we have missed.”

“Vader?” Tarkin asked.

“R2 has left us something else,” Vader answered. “I can feel it.”

Tarkin started giggling.

“...ah,” Vader declared. “There it is.”

“Nitrous oxide?” C-3PO asked. “Really?”

R2 whistled.

“I don’t care if you had to improvise and that it’s easily produced from available life support gases,” C-3PO replied, shaking his head. “Really, R2.”

#star wars #darth vader #r2d2 and c3po #r2d2 #c3po

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fangirlfuel · 2 months ago

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Stolen Seconds

---

You hadn’t seen him in over a year.

Not in person, anyway.

He was still everywhere—on screens, in headlines, on race day broadcasts where you’d catch glimpses of his focused face and the way he adjusted his gloves with the same precise movements he used to have when holding your hand.

Carlos Sainz.

The man who taught you what passion looked like when it was on fire. The one who kissed you like he had forever, then walked away like it meant nothing.

---

Your story began in Monaco.

You weren’t from the glamorous circles he moved in—you were a data analyst, a junior embedded with the Ferrari tech team through a collaboration with your firm. It wasn’t supposed to be permanent. A three-month exchange, max.

But then you met him.

He was… unexpected.

Not just charming—most drivers were—but kind. Observant. Grounded.

He noticed things. The way your hands fidgeted when you were nervous, the way you bit your cheek when you were deep in thought. He asked about your family. Your dreams. Your stupid Spotify playlists.

You never stood a chance.

Neither did he, really.

Your romance wasn’t loud. It was late-night texts in hotel rooms, stolen glances between engineering meetings, and long conversations in empty paddocks. He was so achingly real with you, it felt like a world apart from the cameras and curated smiles.

But being with him meant compromise.

He was constantly gone. Racing schedules swallowed time. Public appearances consumed weekends. And you, ambitious and determined, refused to be the girl who gave up her career for a man who might not stay.

So when it ended, it wasn’t with screaming.

It ended with silence.

A text he sent after a fight left unresolved.

Maybe this isn’t working anymore.

You never replied.

---

And now, here you were, badge clipped to your lanyard, standing inside Ferrari HQ in Maranello, as part of a high-stakes project aimed at refining race strategy in the final stretch of the season.

You thought you were safe. Your role was on the tech side—data modeling, AI-assisted forecasting. Far from the drivers. Far from him.

Until Team Principal Benedetto walked in during your third day and said, “We’re restructuring the ops support teams. You’ll be working directly with Carlos Sainz for the remainder of the season.”

You blinked. “Sorry?”

He smiled as if this were a gift. “You’re the best for the role. And Carlos trusts you already, no?”

You didn’t answer.

But fate did.

---

Barcelona was the first weekend you had to be physically close.

It started off stiff. He said hello. You nodded. Conversations were technical, clipped, overly formal. You worked well together, which was cruel.

He remembered your working style. Still gave you space when you got lost in your data. Still deferred to your insights before making a decision. Still looked at you like he saw things no one else could.

On Sunday, after a rough qualifying, you found him pacing in the back of the motorhome. Everyone was scrambling to rethink tire strategy. You tapped him lightly on the shoulder.

“Softs for the start,” you said. “Trust me.”

His eyes searched yours. “You always say that.”

“And I’m usually right.”

He paused, then—God help you—smiled.

“Still smug, I see.”

“Still annoying,” you shot back, but the corner of your mouth betrayed you.

And just like that, the ice began to melt.

---

It was gradual, the way you began orbiting each other again.

Coffee runs became casual check-ins. Meetings bled into offhand jokes. One night in Zandvoort, you walked back from dinner alongside each other instead of taking separate cars.

He talked about his father, his doubts, the pressure of legacy. You told him about your promotion, the offer to move to the States, the way your apartment still smelled faintly of his cologne no matter how often you washed the sheets.

Then came the night in Singapore.

A disaster race looming, data unclear, and the strategy team deadlocked.

You stayed up until 3am rerunning simulations. Found a window—risky but potentially race-changing. You didn’t run it by the lead strategist. You went to Carlos directly.

“If you want to win, this is how,” you said, shoving the numbers at him.

He studied them. Then looked at you.

“Do you still believe in me?”

You hesitated. Then: “Yes.”

And he nodded.

And he won.

---

After the race, you avoided the cameras, ducked into the operations tent and buried yourself in data again.

Carlos found you there.

His suit was half unzipped, still smelling of sweat and champagne.

“You saved my race,” he said.

You shrugged. “You drove it.”

He stepped closer. “We make a good team.”

You finally looked at him. Really looked.

“Maybe we always did.”

He smiled, a sad sort of smile. “I was stupid. Back then.”

“So was I.”

“Can I try again?” he asked. “Not to fix the past. Just… to know you now?”

You didn’t answer right away.

But you stood.

And took his hand.

And this time, it wasn’t stolen seconds.

It was a new start.

One you both chose.

---

Found this when I was scrolling through my drafts, forgot about it , this was like the short Idea I saved in my drafts telling myself that I I'll develop it later but I completely forgot about it. 😅

---

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partisan-by-default · 4 months ago

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During a Tuesday appearance in New York City, Ford CEO Jim Farley focused on two big threats to U.S. auto manufacturers and their suppliers: Trump’s vow to withdraw support for electric vehicles and his enthusiasm for big, broad tariffs, especially against Canada and Mexico.

“Jobs will be at risk” if Trump ends the EV support, Farley said, according to an account in the Detroit News.

As for those tariffs, Farley said, they could “blow a hole in the U.S. industry that we’ve never seen.”

CEOs aren’t always correct, and they’re certainly not always looking out for the best interests of their workers. But the admonition from Farley, who was speaking at the Wolfe Research Auto, Auto Tech and Semiconductor Conference, echoes what labor unions and many analysts have been saying about the industry and how it will fare if Trump makes the changes he has promised.

Recent federal support for EVs has helped spark an explosion in factory construction for the vehicles and their component parts, in a region stretching from the upper Midwest to a new “battery belt” in the South. It also has fueled rising EV sales, allowing the “legacy” U.S. automakers like Ford and General Motors to make up some of the ground they’ve lost to competitors in China, where the government has spent more than two decades nurturing its own EV industry.

But government subsidies in the U.S. have largely come through the Inflation Reduction Act, the sweeping 2022 Democratic climate legislation President Joe Biden signed into law. And Trump is not a fan — of clean energy policies generally (he has famously called climate change a “hoax”) or of federal EV policies (which he says are forcing the industry to make unappealing, unprofitable cars).

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ralvezfanatic · 2 years ago

Text

Kiss me! Kiss me!! Kiss me again!!!

Spencer Reid x Tall Male!Reader

Garcia steps out to go buy food, leaving Reader and a tired, annoyed and definitely not pouty, Spencer alone for a moment. Unfortunately she forgot something causing her to go back and walk in on the two lovers kissing.

Warnings: Kissing. Being caught. Not really proofread. That's all I can think of, lmk if I missed anything. Reader is taller than Spencer. Whiny Spencer. Sorta OOC

Title stolen off of Kiss Me <3 bc i love Vampyx !!

Word count: 1.2k

"Go on Garcia! It's like..." You check the clock quickly, thinking a second trying to remember the time zones before speaking again.

"...4am in New York!" You finished, wanting Garcia to leave without too much worry.

"3am. It's 3am in New York, the team hasn't called us in a while, and we'll be fine if they do. I'm here! With this genius, we'll be alright for a few hours."

"3am." Spencer mumbled out to correct you.

Garcia looked at you, a smile on her face appreciating your kindness. She stood up, nodding as she finally gave in.

"Okay! You're totally right, lover boy, right right. I can leave for a little, get something to eat quickly." She continued nodding, collecting her things as she talked.

She was hesitant to leave, it was a stressful case, most leads ended up in a dead end. She knew you would be fine if the team needed something, but the stress didn't want to let her go out.

She stopped, wondering if she had everything. "Umm.. yes.. yes?" She listed things off. With a last "yes" she hummed and thanked you again.

"I'll be back soon. I'll bring something for you two, don't worry." She smiled, ruffling your hair.

"Thank you Pen!!" You waved at her, but she was already walking out, her heels clicking with each of her steps. Finally she walks out the door and closes it, leaving you and Spencer alone.

He had injured himself once more, and wasn't allowed on the field for a while so he was left with the tech analysts again. He didn't really mind, spending time with his best friend and boyfriend was not something to be complaining about. He spun a bit in his chair, looking down at the floor, wishing he could go home and sleep. He was tired, uncomfortable and slightly irritated from the case.

You turned to him, watching him move in his chair with a smile on your face finding his movements silly. Even though he was obviously annoyed, he still

"C'mere.." You called to him, rolling your chair closer to him before he even had the chance to move.

You stood up, pulling his arms to make him stand up with you. He looked up, not wanting to stand up but was only met with your pleading eyes.

He sighed and started to stand up slowly, using you as support. You smiled at his compliance, helping him so he doesn't put too much weight on his injury.

You wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him closer to you. You looked down at him, your faces inches apart, a smile on your face.

"Did you make me stand just to stare at me? Or to remind yourself of the small height difference?" Spencer asked you, unamused with the fact he stood for seemingly no reason.

Honestly you didn't know why exactly you made him stand, his questioning made you chuckle though.

"No, of course not." You shook your head and leaned down in an attempt to kiss him.

He blushed and shook his head trying to pull away, or stop you.

"No! We're at work, in your shared little room. It's unprofessional!" He frowned, desperately wanting to give in and just kiss you, but not wanting to be break the rules at work.

"Nobody is going to walk in! It's like.. past 2am, the teams across the country and Garcia just left to buy food, we'll be fine." You insisted, knowing that you two would be safe to kiss.

"No, what if someone else walks in? What if someone comes looking for one of us! What if-".

You quickly cut him off with a kiss, which immediately shut him up. He was still worried, scared someone would walk in, but he didn't do much to pull away from your kissing. Actually, he melted into it quickly, wrapped his arms around your shoulders, both for comfort and support.

You hummed out feeling his arms wrap around you, happy he gave in. You had only meant for it to be a short kiss, but Spencer had let out a small whimper when you pulled away. Now, how could you even think about making your injured boyfriend sad.

You shook your head, a chuckle escaping at his pouty face.

"Thought you said it was unprofessional?" You raised your eyebrow at him, only to be met with furrowed eyebrows and a bigger pout.

"Y/N!" He whined, sounding like a child about to throw a tantrum. You rolled your eyes, leaning down to meet his lips again, but spoke before actually kissing him.

"Don't start stomping your foot now." You laughed before he crashed his mouth into yours, wanting to shut you up from your stupid comments.

He pulled you closer, trying to deepen the kiss which you quickly allowed, turning the supposedly sweet kiss into a small makeout session.

"Hey boy genius and boy genius lover!" Penelope's voice called out from outside, quickly opening the door before either of you could move.

"I forgot my-" She started, the door swinging open and immediately cut herself off seeing you two leaned against the desk.

Spencer quickly broke away from the kiss, but not daring to face her, his face completely red from embarrassment. You looked over at Penelope, cheeks flushed as you continued to hold Spencer by his waist.

"Oh! Am I interrupting, boy.. time..? Sorry sorry.. let me just quickly grab this and leave." She apologized quickly, shuffling in and leaning around the both of you to grab her forgotten item.

She backed up, patting Spencer on his shoulder before she walked out. "Didn't think you had it in you Spencer, making out at work!?"

"Derek is not going to believe this.." She giggled before closing the door and leaving.

Spencer cringed at her comment, knowing Derek was going to tease him about this nonstop for the next month (if not more).

He turned his head up, glaring at you as he spoke.

"See! I told you we'd get caught!" He huffed, pulling his arms off your shoulders and looked away from you.

"Well it's not like I was the only one participating in the kiss was I? Or the one who whined when I tried to pull away." You responded, not appreciating how your boyfriend tried to put the blame all on you.

He let out another annoyed huff at your comment, knowing you were right, but obviously he wasn't going to take the blame when he could just continue to put it on you.

"You gave in to the second kiss when you could have easily just stopped."

"Yeah and then deal with your whining and pouty ass the rest of the night?"

"I don't whine!"

You stare at him, eyebrow raised wondering if he seriously believed that.

He did.

"What? I don't pout, or whine! I'm a grown man, not a child.." He said after a couple of seconds of being stared at.

"Mhm.." You hummed out, not wanting to continue with this anymore. Spencer, of course, did not pout at your lack of response.

"Whatever you say Spencer." You chuckled, giving him a soft kiss on his forehead.

He let out yet another huff, completely unappreciating your comments about his maturity.

You let go of his waist, allowing him to back away and sit back down, but instead he looked at you as soon as you let go. You looked back down at him, wondering why he wasn't moving back to his chair.

"What?"

He turned around, making sure the door was closed before leaning back and tugging on your shirt to meet your lips once more.

#spencer reid x male reader #bau x male reader #criminal minds x male reader #male reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #x male reader

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veganism · 1 year ago

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The genocide is also experimentation on living beings

Israel is currently testing new weapons in Gaza, some of which will soon be sold globally as "battle-tested," according to Antony Loewenstein, an author who has written a widely acclaimed book on the issue.

For years, the Israeli defense sector has used Palestine as a laboratory for new weapons and surveillance tech, he told Anadolu, adding that this is also the case in the current ongoing war on Gaza.

One of the main reasons why "many nations, democracies and dictatorships support Israeli occupation" of Palestine is because it allows them to buy these "battle-tested" weapons, asserted Loewenstein, author of The Palestine Laboratory: How Israel Exports the Technology of Occupation Around the World.

Another aspect of Israel's war on Gaza has been the use of artificial intelligence technology, he said.

According to Loewenstein, AI has been one of the key targeting tools used by the Israeli military in its deadly campaign of airstrikes, leading to mass killings of Palestinians-now over 28,500-and damage on an unprecedented scale.

The current war on Gaza is "inarguably one of the most consequential and bloody," he said.

He described Israel's use of AI against Palestinians as "automated murder," stressing that this model "will be studied and copied by other nation-states" and Tel Aviv will sell them these technologies as tried and tested weapons.

In the last 50 years, Israel has exported hi-tech surveillance tools to at least 130 countries around the world.

To maintain its illegal occupation of the West Bank and East Jerusalem, and blockade of the Gaza Strip, Israel has developed a range of tools and technologies that have made it the world's leading exporter of spyware and digital forensics tools.

But analysts say the intelligence failure during the Oct. 7, 2023 Hamas attacks casts doubts over Tel Avis's technological capabilities.

Israel's reliance on technology "is an illusion of safety, while imprisoning 2.3 million people under endless occupation," said Loewenstein, who is Jewish and holds Australian and German nationalities.

He described Israel's response in Gaza as "apocalyptic," stressing that the killings of Palestinian civilians, including children and women, is "on a scale of indiscriminate slaughter."

- 'BLOOD MONEY'

Loewenstein, who is also a journalist, said Israel has honed its weapons and technology expertise over decades as an occupying power, acting with increasing impunity in the Palestinian territories.

This led a small country like Israel to become one of the top 10 arms dealers in the world, he said, adding that Israeli arms sales in 2021 were "the highest on record, surging 55% over the previous two years to $11.3 billion."

In his book, Loewenstein explores thoroughly Israel's ties with autocracies and regimes engaged in mass displacement campaigns, and governments slinking their way into phones.

The Israeli NSO Group sold its well-known Pegasus software to numerous governments, a spyware tool for phones that gives access to the entire content, including conversations, text messages, emails and photos even when the device is switched off.

Israeli drones were first tested over Gaza, the besieged enclave that Loewenstein referred to as "the perfect laboratory for Israeli ingenuity in domination."

Surveillance technology developed in Israel has also been sold to the US in the form of watch towers now used on the border with Mexico.

The EU's border agency Frontex is known to have used Israeli drone technology to monitor refugees.

Loewenstein explains in his book that the EU has partnered with leading Israeli defense companies to use its drones, "and of course years of experience in Palestine is a key selling point."

"So again, one sees how there are so many examples of nations that are wanting to copy what Israel is doing in their own area in their own country on their own border," he said.

These technologies and "are sold by Israel as battle-tested," he said.

In other words, he contends that Palestinians essentially have become "guinea pigs," and despite some nations and the UN publicly criticizing the Israeli occupation, in reality "they're desperate for this technology for themselves for their own countries."

"And that's how in fact, the Palestine laboratory has been so successful for Israel for so long," he said.

In his exhaustive probe into Israel's dealings with arms sales around the world, he noted that the country has monetized the occupation of Palestine, by selling weapons, spyware tools and technologies to repressive regimes such as Rwanda during the genocide in 1994 and to Myanmar during its genocide against the Muslim Rohingya people in 2017.

"This to me is blood money. I mean, there's no other way to see that and again, as someone Jewish, who has spent many, many years reporting on this conflict, both within Israel and Palestine but also elsewhere, it's deeply shameful that Israel is making huge amounts of money from the misery of others," he said.

"This is not a legacy that I can be proud of."

- 'NO NATION ACTUALLY HOLDING ISRAEL TO ACCOUNT'

Profiting from misery is to some extent the nature of what capitalism has always been about, but Israel does this with a great deal of impunity, "because Israel does what it wants," said Loewenstein.

"There is no accountability, there is no transparency, there is no nation actually holding Israel to account," he added.

Israel's regime is shielded from any political backlash for years to come because nations are reliant on Israeli weapons and spyware, said the author.

Israel may not be the only player employing surveillance technology that leads to human rights violations, but it still plays a dominant role, which is why Loewenstein insists that it deserves singular attention.

Israel's foreign policy has always been "amoral and opportunistic," he said, calling on all nations to take a stand and hold Israel accountable, and acknowledge that the world is buying what Israel is selling.

#free palestine #animal rights #govegan #animalrights #free gaza #gaza strip #gaza genocide #palestine #veganism #animals

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justinspoliticalcorner · 7 months ago

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Walter Einenkel at Daily Kos:

Dubious tech billionaire Vivek Ramaswamy promised to use his new, nongovernmental position with the Department of Government Efficiency to “carefully scrutinize” federal loans made to Elon Musk’s electric vehicle rivals. In a post on X, Ramaswamy promised to investigate federal loans made to electric vehicle manufacturers not named Tesla under the Inflation Reduction Act.

Ramaswamy’s tirade came the same day the U.S. Department of Energy announced a $7 billion federal loan to two Indiana-based electric battery plants. The two plants, in Kokomo, Indiana, would supply batteries to car manufacturer Stellantis, who owns Chrysler, Dodge, Jeep, and Ram. The loan to create the battery plants in Indiana is expected to create 3,200 construction jobs, and then 2,800 manufacturing jobs when the plants are fully operating. The Rivian project in Georgia is expected to create 7,500 jobs through 2030. The tech bro’s threats also called into question the Biden administration’s decision to commit $6 billion to support electric vehicle-maker Rivian to produce batteries at a plant in Georgia, last week. “DOGE will carefully scrutinize every one of these questionable 11th-hour transactions, starting on Jan. 20,” Ramaswamy wrote.

[...] Tesla’s dominant share of the U.S. EV market, once well over 70%, has fallen steadily since 2019. In the months leading up to Musk’s full-throated endorsement and support of Trump, Tesla’s share dropped below 50% for the first time. Analysts have long predicted the EV company would continue to lose market position as more affordable offerings with larger distribution infrastructures became available.

DOGE co-chair Vivek Ramaswamy plans to scrutinize all non-Tesla EV federal loans with Inflation Reduction Act money.

#Vivek Ramswamy #DOGE #Department of Government Efficiency #Electric Vehicles #Tesla #Inflation Reduction Act #Rivian

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nan-not-found · 2 days ago

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MHA: Bright Futures Ahead (AU)

Hope shines brightest in everyday heroism.

Bright Futures Ahead (明るい未来が待っている Akarui mirai ga matte iru) is an fanmade alternate universe created by NanNotFound based on the manga/anime series ‘My Hero Academia’ by Kohei Horikoshi.

Synopsis

In a world still shaped by quirks but no longer overrun by chaos, Bright Futures Ahead reimagines My Hero Academia through a gentler, more grounded lens. U.A. High has evolved into a prestigious five-year Hero Academy for students aged fifteen and up—an institution that prioritizes more than just power. Here, future heroes are trained not only to fight, but to thrive.

With a curriculum centered around emotional well-being, community involvement, real-world internships, and personal growth, U.A. offers its students a space to discover who they are—not just as heroes, but as people. While threats and challenges still exist, they no longer overshadow the everyday victories: a hard-won friendship, a newfound confidence, a quiet act of bravery.

Bright Futures Ahead trades all-out war for slice-of-life warmth, placing character development, relationships, and healing front and center. It’s a story about growing up in a world that believes in second chances, strong bonds, and the kind of heroism found in simply showing up—for others, and for yourself.

Cast

Main Characters

This AU follows my OCs as they basically tell the story through their eyes.

Information on these OCs coming soon.

U.A. Academy

U.A. Academy (UAアカデミー UA akademī) Welcome to U.A. Academy, the top hero-training institution in Japan—revamped, recharged, and ready for the next generation of heroes. A hybrid between elite hero high school and college-level development program, U.A. now operates as a vibrant three-year academy for students aged 15 to 18, blending rigorous training with real-world experience and personal discovery.

Here, students aren’t just learning to fight villains—they’re learning how to be heroes their way.

With colorful classes ranging from Quirk Theory & Control to Hero Branding, Rescue Strategy, and even Crisis Counseling 101, U.A. nurtures a wide range of hero paths—from flashiest frontline fighters to low-key lifesavers. Students can pursue specialized tracks, explore support roles, or even craft their own niche under the guidance of pro mentors.

The campus is lively and uniquely tailored: dorms, clubs, hero simulators, quirk-safe zones, and internship hubs fill the school with energy and opportunity. Friendships bloom, rivalries spark, and every student carves out their own heroic identity in a world that values both strength and heart.

Whether you dream of taking center stage or changing the world quietly from the wings, U.A. Academy is where heroes come into their own.

Your story starts here.

Classes

All Departments

Department of Heroics & Field Operations (Staff Lead: Aizawa, Kan)

Department of Strategy, Analysis & Support (Staff Lead: Snipe, Thirteen)

Department of Public Relations & Civic Heroism (Staff Lead: Present Mic, Mt. Lady)

Department of Heroics (Classes A & B)

“Courage in Action.” This department is for students training to become frontline heroes—the ones who respond to disasters, stop criminals, and lead on the battlefield. Focus: Combat training, quirk refinement, tactical response, rescue missions

Tracks: Frontline Hero, Rescue Specialist, Tactical Leader

Key Courses: Advanced Mobility, Crisis Scenario Simulations, Quirk Synergy, Legal & Ethical Use of Force

Ideal for: Students with high-impact quirks, strong leadership skills, or a passion for direct action

Department of Strategy (Classes C & D)

“Wisdom Behind the Mask.” This department molds heroes who operate off the front lines—supporting through planning, intelligence, invention, and emotional care. Focus: Support gear creation, strategy, tech development, quirk theory, mental health

Tracks: Support Engineer, Hero Analyst, Counselor Hero, Tactical Coordinator

Key Courses: Hero Tech Design, Psychological First Aid, Mission Planning, Quirk Compatibility Studies

Ideal for: Students with technical minds, problem-solving skills, or quirks better suited to support or analysis

Department of Public Relations (Class E & F)

“Heroism Starts with Connection.” Focused on social leadership, this department trains heroes who inspire through presence, education, and outreach. Focus: Media relations, community building, advocacy, disaster relief coordination, diplomacy

Tracks: Civic Hero, Media-Facing Hero, Hero Educator, Peace Facilitator

Key Courses: Public Speaking for Heroes, Community Service Integration, Hero Branding, Conflict Mediation

Ideal for: Students with charisma, empathy, or a desire to change society through influence and connection

Note: Each department has 2 classes with each class broken into years. Class 1A would be Heroics year 1, therefore years 1-3 would be seen as Class 1A, 2A, and 3A. There are a maximum of 26 students per class.

U.A. Staff

Principle - Nezu Vice Principle -

Head Nurse - Nurse Assistant 1 - Nurse Assistant 2 -

Chef - Lunch Rush

Guidance Counselor -

Heroics Dept. Lead - Eraserhead Heroics Dept. Co-Lead - Vlad King

Strategy Dept. Lead - Snipe Strategy Dept. Co-Lead - Thirteen

Public Dept. Lead - Present Mic Public Dept. Co-Lead - Mt. Lady

Class 1A Homeroom Teacher - Eraserhead Class 2A Homeroom Teacher - Cementoss Class 3A Homeroom Teacher - All Might Class 1B Homeroom Teacher - Vlad King Class 2B Homeroom Teacher - Edgeshot Class 3 B Homeroom Teacher - Endeavor

Class 1C Homeroom Teacher - Snipe Class 2C Homeroom Teacher - Ectoplasm Class 3C Homeroom Teacher - Kamui Woods Class 1D Homeroom Teacher - Thirteen Class 2D Homeroom Teacher - Class 3D Homeroom Teacher - Fatgum

Class 1E Homeroom Teacher - Present Mic Class 2E Homeroom Teacher - Midnight Class 3E Homeroom Teacher - Hawks Class 1F Homeroom Teacher - Mt. Lady Class 2F Homeroom Teacher - Mirko Class 3F Homeroom Teacher -

**Blank spots are open for OCs to fill.

U.A. Students (Main Cast)

Class 1A: Yuga Aoyama, Mina Ashido, Tsuyu Asui, Tenya Iida, Ochaco Uraraka, Mashirao Ojiro, Denki Kaminari, Eijiro Kirishima, Koji Koda, Rikido Sato, Mezo Shoji, Kyoka Jiro, Hanta Sero, Fumikage Tokoyami, Shoto Todoroki, Toru Hagakure, Katsuki Bakugou, Izuku Midoriya, Minoru Mineta, Momo Yaoyorozu, Hitoshi Shinsou + 3 incoming OCs, as well as 2 slots left available.

Class 1B: Yosetsu Awase, Sen Kaibara, Togaru Kamakiri, Shihai Kuroiro, Itsuka Kendo, Yui Kodai, Kinoko Komori, Ibara Shiozaki, Jurota Shishida, Nirengeki Shoda, Pony Tsunotori, Kosei Tsuburaba, Tesutetsu Tetsutetsu, Setsuna Tokage, Manga Fukidashi, Juzo Honenuki, Kojiro Bondo, Neito Monoma, Reiko Yanagi, Hiryu Rin, + 6 slots left available.

All other Classes are minus the following: 3 slots in Class 3A for Mirio Togata, Nejire Hado, and Tamaki Amajiki; 1 slot in Class 2D for Mei Hatsume.

** Notes: Thank you for reading. This is just basic information about my AU as I will be - keyword here - attempting to make an AU fanmanga set around my OCs. It’s really just an ambitious goal for fun so I’ll be taking my time with it. For now, I’ll be building OCs for it and just drawing for fun as I lay it all out.

As you can see, not too much is different between my AU and MHA. My AU basically just turns MHA into a ‘what-if’ scenario where the LOV isn’t as big a threat, All For One isn’t killing and taking quirks, and the governing body of the school isn’t training innocent kids to be soldiers for a war. 😂

If you read this and wanna insert your OC into this AU, just send me a message! I’d love to include others in this fun setting and see everyone’s unique OCs! 😀

#bnha #mha #bnha oc #mha oc #my hero academia oc #mha au #bnha au #nannotfound

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mariacallous · 1 month ago

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On April 1st, the day before President Donald Trump’s tariffs cratered global markets, House Speaker Mike Johnson told reporters “to trust the President’s instinct on the economy.” In the days afterward, Johnson’s message was echoed by legions of online supporters, who, amid plunging stock prices and predictions of a global recession, reminded one another to “trust the plan,” a catchphrase popular on QAnon forums.

For many devotees, Trump was a political savant. He was playing “4-D chess,” they said, supposedly outsmarting billionaire backers like Bill Ackman and Elon Musk, analysts who expected trade wars and job losses, and the twenty-three Nobel Prize-winning economists who cautioned that his policies would cause “higher prices, larger deficits, and greater inequality.” Elsewhere in the MAGAverse, self-proclaimed prophets announced that a divine plan was under way. In an April 7th video that’s been viewed nearly four hundred thousand times, the Iowa-based evangelist Julie Green claimed that God had warned her of the economic crash before the tariffs were announced. “Your economy, and all the markets, have been overtaken by the enemies from within,” God reportedly told her. “Their control over your nation, and its economy, is all collapsing in front of you.”

The tone marked a vibe shift from the technocracies of yesteryear. “I know that sometimes when I was President, and even when I was a candidate, folks would say, ‘Barack, you’re talking too long. You’re too professorial. You’re explaining stuff too much,’ ” Obama said, in 2018. His was a politics of complexity and deliberation, of data and binders and reasoned debate. Trump’s first term began in this style. Working alongside institutionalists like Paul Ryan and Mitch McConnell, and through appointees like Gary Cohn and H. R. McMaster, his Administration kicked off with a familiarly wonkish feel. But, in the eight years since Trump first took office, procedure has given way to prophecy. For millions of his followers, the President is no longer the Administrator-in-Chief but something closer to the hero Rama in the Hindu epic the Ramayana: a divine avatar destined to wage a holy war against evil.

Trump’s messianic appeal may seem like a twenty-first-century creation, a product of partisan rage, epistemic drift, and American-style evangelicalism. This is the conclusion of much of the analysis on the convergence of conspiratorial thinking and spiritual yearning, often termed “conspirituality.” In “The Age of Magical Overthinking,” the writer Amanda Montell treats the phenomenon as an algorithmic aberration: “Combine our organic animism with capitalism and tech-powered misinformation spread, and you get conspirituality.” Likewise, the scholars Charlotte Ward and David Voas, in their 2011 paper popularizing the term “conspirituality,” described it as a historically contingent synthesis: a fusion of the “female-dominated New Age (with its positive focus on self) and the male-dominated realm of conspiracy theory (with its negative focus on global politics).”

But to treat the right’s politico-mystical fervor as a modern malfunction is to miss its deeper logic. The Trumpian mystique echoes a dynamic that has occurred for centuries and across cultures. Its core ingredients—an alleged league of pedophiles, a godlike miracle worker, promises of an Edenic restoration—resemble archetypes that have long occupied humanity’s imagination. Trump’s followers may communicate through memes and message boards, but their faith belongs to a much older mythology: the eternal face-off between shaman and witch, prophet and cabal.

In 1987, an army of between seven and ten thousand soldiers advanced toward Uganda’s capital, Kampala. They were led by Alice Auma, a fishmonger turned spirit medium in her early thirties. A photograph from that period shows her seated between two followers. Dressed in a plain white top and a long patterned skirt, she looks less like a rebel commander than she does a schoolteacher or a market vender. To her supporters, though, she was a prophet possessed by the spirit of an Italian captain named Lakwena (“messenger,” in the Acholi language) sent to cleanse the land of sin and corruption. Known thereafter as Alice Lakwena, she pledged to destroy witches, purify warriors, and unite Ugandans against the President, Yoweri Museveni.

Alice was a healer before she was a fighter. Her first acolytes were fellow-members of the Acholi ethnic group. They feared extermination after Museveni, an ethnic Hima, overthrew Tito Okello, an Acholi officer, and the army demanded that all Acholi surrender their weapons. Her fighters later told missionaries, “The good Lord who had sent the Lakwena decided to change his work from that of a doctor to that of a military commander for one simple reason: it is useless to cure a man today only that he be killed the next day.”

Alice’s rise was not anomalous. As I explore in my new book, “Shamanism: The Timeless Religion,” upheaval often begets messianic revelation. When colonialism disrupted social orders in New Guinea and the surrounding islands, so-called cargo cults emerged, led by shaman-prophets who promised material abundance, the return of ancestors, and, in many instances, the end of foreign rule. In South Africa, the teen-age seer Nongqawuse foretold that the European settlers would be swept into the sea and a golden age would dawn—if only her people slaughtered their cattle and burned their crops. And in mid-nineteenth-century China, at a time of disasters, crippling taxation, and Western humiliation, a failed civil-service candidate claiming to be Christ’s brother launched the Taiping Rebellion, vowing heavenly rule on earth and the expulsion of demons.

Such movements share a predictable structure. People in crisis exhibit an instinctive paranoia. They are quick to blame suffering on individuals, especially the distrusted and powerful. Charismatic figures co-evolve with these understandings. They name enemies, invoke cosmic stakes, and present themselves as exceptional in precisely the ways necessary to vanquish agents of misfortune. They offer futures that are prosperous and pure but also backward-looking—lost paradises regained through sacrifice.

Core to all of this are depictions of evil. Conjured opponents are more than malicious—they’re inhuman, perverted, and often supernatural. In Alice’s sermons, they were sorcerers. In the Taiping Rebellion, they were demons dressed as bureaucrats. When I analyzed beliefs about harmful magic across sixty diverse societies, I found that the most feared malefactors were suspected not just of causing calamity but of engaging in moral depravity, with a cross-cultural fixation on cannibalism and sexual deviance. Among the Tlingit of the Pacific Northwest, witches (both male and female) were said to have sex with corpses and their own family members. The Santal, in South Asia, believed that witches (always female) copulated with spirit familiars and devoured the organs of children. Similar fears haunted Europeans and British Americans during the early modern period; one need only consult the witchcraft paintings of Francisco Goya, which show covens of half-naked women killing babies, eating people, and cavorting with the Devil.

These depictions serve a purpose. Portrayed as cannibals, child-killers, and corpse-defilers, enemies become existential threats and the worst imaginable offenders, lying beyond the pale of redemption. The fear of them galvanizes collective action and deepens devotion to leaders. Unable to be reformed, opponents must be destroyed.

Trumpism revives these mythic structures. This fact is nowhere clearer than in QAnon, the sprawling super-conspiracy centered on three beliefs: first, the government, mainstream media, and élite financial institutions are controlled by Satan-worshipping pedophiles who exploit children in a global sex-trafficking ring. Second, Donald Trump was recruited in a secret campaign to dismantle the cabal. Third, there will come a moment, “the Storm,” when mass arrests and public reckonings will purge the country of evil and restore the rightful to power.

QAnon arose during Trump’s first Presidency, growing from obscure online chatter into a mass movement. Its adherents numbered in the tens of thousands in 2018 and surged to millions by 2020. After Biden was inaugurated, in 2021, QAnon seemed like it might fizzle. Its central predictions—that Trump would win, that Hillary Clinton would be arrested, that televised tribunals would expose hidden debaucheries—failed to materialize. Q, the anonymous figure whose posts drove the movement’s folklore, stopped writing on message boards.

But the creed didn’t die. Like a spore-filled fungus, it ruptured, disseminating itself across the far right. By the end of 2021, polling by the Public Religion Research Institute revealed that more than one in six Americans accepted QAnon’s core beliefs, while only a third completely rejected the doctrine. Prophecies about salvation, spiritual warfare, and diabolic foes merged seamlessly into American evangelicalism; the disorientation of the pandemic deepened the appeal, and Q’s ideas found believers among yoga instructors, wellness influencers, and suburban moms.

The normalization of QAnon has coincided with a broader reënchantment. Astrology is booming, especially among millennials. Instagram teems with tarot, spell jars, and manifestation memes. WitchTok garners billions of views. In the 2021 census, “shamanism” ranked as the fastest-growing self-reported religion in England and Wales, beating out Zoroastrianism and Rastafari. Atheists, too, are feeling the vibes, with more than a quarter telling Pew, in 2023, that they’ve been contacted by a dead relative.

The two trends are connected. Trust in traditional sources of authority has plummeted. The public’s faith in Congress, the Supreme Court, and the media is scraping historic lows. Even confidence in scientists and doctors—long among the most trusted groups—has fallen. Between 2020 and 2024, the share of Americans who trusted scientists to act in the public’s best interest slipped from eighty-seven per cent to seventy-six per cent, while trust in physicians and hospitals plunged thirty points, to around forty per cent.

This climate of distrust has eroded institutional legitimacy. The German sociologist Max Weber famously observed that societies undergo a “routinization of charisma.” They use rules, procedures, and bureaucracy to tame the instability of magnetic leaders, with authority becoming less personal and more institutionalized. But today that process is unravelling. As many question the fairness and neutrality of political systems, the model of an ideal leader shifts from the administrative back to the messianic. And as faith in science and expertise recedes, it unleashes older, more intuitive ways of knowing—astrology, shamanism, divine revelation, and witchy paranoia.

The question, then, is whether the fervor will outlast the figurehead. Trump feels inherent to Trumpism. He also seems to have been uniquely prepared for a populist Presidency by a lifetime in the spotlight, including more than a decade as a reality-TV star. But, if his prophetic aura reflects a deeper, more universal pattern, what happens when he fades away? Does the mythology collapse? Or will a new messiah rise to take his place?

Alice’s power began to fade on September 30, 1987. Museveni’s military located her troops in the Tororo district, some two hundred kilometres from Uganda’s capital. The two armies had clashed many times before. Weeks earlier, Alice’s soldiers repelled his forces, nabbing a radio, AK-47s, and other weapons. This time was different. Museveni’s army encircled them and, for hours, pounded them with mortar fire. Alice’s troops eventually broke the siege, but at a cost. Nearly a third of the forces got separated and misdirected. Her civilian followers escaped into the swamps and lost their way. The battle was one of her bloodiest and most demoralizing.

Alice’s crusade had endured failures before, yet it had always managed to produce a scapegoat, often Alice herself. On at least two occasions, the spirit Lakwena—using her as his vessel, supposedly—rebuked her for disobedience. But, this time, the spell had been broken. Five hundred soldiers left immediately; in the month that followed, the movement bled support. On November 2nd, when Lakwena called on fighters, only three hundred and sixty answered. Days later, this remnant was scattered by Museveni’s army, and Alice disappeared into Kenya.

In interviews with Alice’s former soldiers, the German anthropologist Heike Behrend came across numerous theories for the defeat: the spirit Lakwena had punished them; it had deserted Alice for defying orders; Alice was a witch; Museveni had hired a “witch doctor” from far away who supplied his army with medicines powerful enough to counteract Lakwena’s blessings.

Yet, through another viewpoint, Alice’s movement didn’t die. It evolved. New prophets competed to revive her army in their image. Her father, Severino Lukoya, attracted two thousand followers and preached his own brand of end-time revelations, which centered on a “New World” in which God, humans, angels, and animals coexisted peacefully. His tenure was short-lived, however: within a year, he was declared a sinner and imprisoned by another Acholi prophet: Joseph Kony.

Claiming to be Alice’s cousin, Kony hijacked her campaign, turning it crueller and more militaristic. He made familiar promises of destroying evil and ushering in an age free of suffering, yet his techniques were more grotesque. He named his organization the Lord’s Resistance Army, and it became notorious for abducting tens of thousands of children for sex and warfare. In the nineteen-nineties and the two-thousands, the L.R.A. ravaged communities across east and central Africa, displacing some two million people and provoking the United States to spend millions a month to try to stop it. All the while, Kony retained his prophetic posture. In 2004, after the Ugandan President reportedly reached out for peace talks, Kony replied, “I will communicate with Museveni through the holy spirits and not through the telephone.”

Kony’s cannibalization of Alice Lakwena’s movement carries a dark lesson. Prophets may fail. Their predictions may go unfulfilled. They may die or abandon their followers when ruin is imminent. Yet new narratives can emerge to justify the collapse: the prophet was false; we were betrayed; the enemy had unnatural powers. Whatever the story, prophetic energy can survive, awaiting a new commander to channel it toward a more ambitious purification.

Trump is brusque and erratic, but he is far from irreplaceable. Although he has no clear successor, there are numerous contenders who orbit his office like hungry ghosts. These include the dynastic heirs (Donald Trump, Jr.), the administrative acolytes (J. D. Vance, Stephen Miller, Pam Bondi), and the new-media influencers (Tucker Carlson, Steve Bannon). Carlson, for his part, has begun speaking in occult terms, claiming this past November that he was “physically mauled” by a “demon.” Whether any of them will manage to consolidate Trump’s power remains to be seen. But unless the grievances that fuelled his apotheosis are reckoned with, his downfall may only clear the stage for someone else—more polished, more destructive, more ruthless—to ascend his holy throne and finish what he began.

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 11 months ago

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Risky Business: Final Part

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.2k

Summary: The repercussions of being in prison finally take a toll on you. You're yelling at everyone, short and curt, and you're in a constant state of wanting to cry. Will this bitter cycle ever end?

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Season Five Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.

As soon as he is done at the hospital, the police station is exactly where Chris ends up at. You, Derek, and Spencer are talking to him in a private room but he isn't saying anything. He's nervously playing with his fingers which is enough to paint a pretty picture for you. The picture is of his dad with his hands around Chris' throat.

His dad's been hurting him. There's a reason why you don't like him.

"Christopher, we know you've been going through a lot since your mother died," Derek starts. "When bad things happen to us, we get frustrated, kid. Sometimes we act out and do things we're not proud of."

He's not engaging in the conversation. He can barely look at either one of you. It's almost Friday and you're not a single step closer to finding out who made the website. If he doesn't talk, people will play it and die. Hotch seems to think that as long as he's here, he can't post.

You have a sick feeling he's not the one monitoring that website.

Penelope immediately did a search for Chris and his family. It's not a shocker that he's a loner but it's a shock that he's moved three times since his mother died. His father cut off his peer support. Three new schools in two years. That's a lot of adjustment for one kid to have to make.

"I want you to know that we're going to be confiscating your computer," Spencer says. "Our analyst is going through all of it so we can uncover the truth."

"Sure you will," Chris scoffs. "Truth."

As you're talking to him, Penelope is trying to get into his computer but can't. He's got a segmented hard drive, serious firewalls, and major-league encryption. There is no reason for all that protection unless he is hiding something. That's why Chris isn't worried. He knows Pen can't get into it.

You look at the clock and see it's 12:01 AM. One minute into Friday, and the videos start piling into the website. Kids are still playing this game despite the warnings you gave. Chris isn't going to give anything up so the two men leave but you still stay seated across from him. He looks at you nervously and you cross one leg over the other.

"What?"

"How long has your dad been choking you?" He leans back in his seat from shock. How the hell did you know that? He stutters out a response but it's nothing you can understand. "Has he always been this way? What about with your mom?"

If he wasn't going to answer questions before, he's certainly not going to answer them now. You get up and leave the room. Hotch wants Penelope to go in and try because if anyone will get him to talk, it's her.

"Hotch, his dad is choking him. He's hurting him. I saw it."

"Hi, I'm Penelope. Can I sit down?"

"You're the cop," he says sarcastically.

"Do I look like a cop to you?" she chuckles and sits.

"Yeah. What, you aren't?"

"No. FBI tech analyst. I just have some administrative cyber crud to go over with you. Just a geekette."

"Cool," he nods.

"You are glum. Time is a great healer."

"You have no idea how I feel."

"I lost my mom and my dad when I was about your age. I don't know. I think I have a pretty good idea of how you feel, and I felt totally alone. Till I found the netizens."

"BTDT."

That means been there, done that.

"Hey, I'm not lying to you. It'll totally get better. BTW, I like your nails," she smiles.

"Thanks. You into goth?" he asks.

"You know, I don't think I'm supposed to be anymore, but the love is still there."

"So, you're FBI?"

"Yeah, I know. It's crazy, but I love it. I enjoy your earring, too. Where did you score that?"

"Ebay. It's supposed to be Johnny D.'s from that pirate movie."

"Most awesome," she smiles.

"She's good," Rossi says. "She established rapport when Morgan, Reid, and Y/N couldn't."

"We should bring her out all the time," Hotch chuckles.

"Okay, your whole PGP disc encryption system is like crazy impressive."

"Yeah, I'm into that kind of stuff," he smiles.

"Stuff? Dude, you do not understand. I am jealous. That is state-of-the-art technology the feeb does not have."

"Whatever," he waves her off but is smiling.

"Okay, how did you get your anonymizing service?"

"I got it from some link from some dude online. What do you care?"

"I just think it's uber cool how you set your whole system up. Like how you use an e-shredder to obliterate your net activity and a window wiper as your secondary trash eraser. Who does that?"

"Everybody does that."

You turn when you hear someone coming in angrily. Chris' father is here and he isn't happy you're talking to him without him. He demands to have his son back and Hotch is forced to give him back since you're not arresting his son. Plus, he's a minor. His father has every right to take him away from here.

"The interview's over. His father invoked," Hotch says to Penelope.

"Dad."

"I'm getting you a lawyer. I screwed up and failed you when your mother died. Not this time. Unless you people have something to charge him with, we're leaving."

Will takes his son away and you look at Hotch in disbelief.

"You heard what I said and you're still letting them leave? He's hurting his child!"

"There's no evidence of that."

Anger flares in your chest but before you can say or do something stupid, you back away.

"Sir, I'm sorry, I tried," Penelope says.

"If he invokes, he invokes. Concentrate on cracking the encryption."

"Yeah."

Everyone is sure Chris is the culprit so they dive deeper into his life while Penelope works on his computer.

"Judging by sheer volume, Christopher's mother was sick quite a bit. His father brought her into the ER repeatedly. She's described as being violently ill each time. She spends a couple of days in the ICU and makes a miraculous recovery only to be repeated time and again. No diagnosis, no discernable cause."

"There's another video going up," JJ announces.

"That's four kids playing in half an hour."

"How many kids go to this school?"

"Its catchment is the whole county. It's almost two thousand. Garcia, we really need to gain administrative access to the website. I've written down a number of things Christopher may have used as the password. I've already eliminated birthdays, holidays, pet names, and pop culture icons," Spencer says.

"No, there was something pathetic about him, not criminal. When he was leaving, he said he missed his mom. What's his mother's name?"

"Cynthia Summers."

Penelope tries her name and it gives her access.

"That's it. Alright, I'm logging in as an administrator and shutting down the main source, but kids are still posting videos through independent servers."

"Pull up the website history and see if you can learn anything from historical posts," Spencer says.

"Christopher's ER eval shows his bruises were caused by manual and ligature strangulation over time," Emily reads over his medical file. "He's also shown to have layered bruising on his sternum."

"It looks like a CPR artifact but there's no record of resuscitations."

"Wait, all these transmissions are transcripts of the same administrator?" Spencer asks Penelope.

"Yeah, there's only one handle."

"This is weird. In the posts, his voice changes. At times he's using more articles and more precise verbiage like he's trying to throw us off. That's pretty sophisticated behavior for a kid. A writer can disguise his own writing style to make himself appear younger or less educated."

"Yeah, but it's virtually impossible to pull off making yourself appear older and more educated than you actually are," Derek says.

"There are actually two distinct writing styles. Two writers using the same screen name--one teen and one adult. Christopher was being manipulated by an adult."

Hmm. I wonder who that can be. You roll your eyes and sit back in your chair while they come to the same conclusion you did half an hour ago.

"The mother's death is a textbook case of Munchausen by proxy. The kid has been choked and revived on multiple occasions."

"You said the father worked for the fire department, right?" Spencer asks Rhonda.

"Yeah, for a couple of months now.

"In what capacity?"

"As an EMT."

"That's our unsub. It's Chris' dad. He's been hurting his own son."

Everyone looks at you. You can choose to make some snarky comment about how they didn't listen to you again, or you can choose to be quiet. You choose the latter.

"So, the father poses as a classmate and invites local kids to join the game. He bumps up the stakes and encourages them to use their riskiest methods."

"He works on Friday nights," Rhonda says."

"Which means he gets called out to do the rescues. He's not just collecting video tapes. His Munchausen has evolved," Spencer says.

"I'll put out an APB for his truck."

"He'll have to find a place to download the videotapes. They're his trophies. After that, he'll clean up his mess."

"Christopher's the only witness against him."

Your team heads to Chris' house but of course, he and his father aren't there. After a quick search, you end up finding piles upon piles of discs from where Will saved every child that has died because of the game he created.

"There are dozens of discs here."

"I was right here. I never even looked around," Rhonda sighs guiltily.

"We only had consent for the laptop and he knew it was encrypted. We didn't have probable cause for a warrant. Mr. Summers didn't have a chance to come back and get his trophies. He'll definitely try to download the videos tonight."

"This kid was doing everything he could just to survive. The extreme abuse conditioned him to shield his father. When his father came into the room, he seemed genuinely relieved like his burden had been lifted. He was elated when his father rescued him. We need to rethink everything. Now, let's focus on the behavior. What's the pattern?" Hotch asks.

"Christopher knows his father's pattern. In his mind, it will never end unless Chris decides to end it."

You take out your phone, call Penelope, and put her on speakerphone.

"Pen, when you were talking to Chris, did he say anything to you to suggest that he was giving up?"

"Giving up?"

"Like he was trying to say goodbye."

"I don't understand."

"Did he give you anything?"

"Yeah. How did you know that?"

"What did he give you?"

"When we were talking, he gave me this pirate's earring."

"He's made up his mind. Suicide is the only victory over his sadistic father. He may also see it as reuniting with his mother. The father's going to want to download those videos from somewhere, Pen, and we have to stop that process."

"I'm already on that. I replaced the website with a phishing site. I'm downloading it to the servers now. When he logs onto that website, he's going to be rerouted to our server, and we can capture his information."

"Stay on that site, Garcia. It will buy us some time," Hotch says.

"Where are they headed?" Emily asks before the lightbulb goes off in her head. "Wait. What about the mother? It's all about the mother. Garcia, where is Cynthia buried?"

"Oaklawn Cemetery, halfway between here and Glenrock."

"Chris would willingly go there with his father thinking it's some sort of refugee, but Will still needs to download the videos. He needs a power source."

"There's a chapel," Rhonda says. "They use it for burials."

"Let's go. Garcia, we'll call you from the car," Hotch says.

You drive to the cemetery and spot Will's car right outside the place.

"Sir, Mr. Summers just logged on. He's caught in the phishing site."

"Is he downloading the files?"

"He's trying to but all he's gonna get is snow," Pen smirks.

You head into the chapel with the team with guns raised only to see Will with hands around his son's throat. It's safe to say that he doesn't get very far but Chris needs to be hospitalized after what his father did to him.

Without the distraction of a case, everyone is forced to think about you and how you've been behaving since getting out of prison. You never wanted to be the one to treat them badly. You're such a loving and kind soul that it kills you to hurt the ones you love.

"I'm sorry," you announce to everyone. "I'm sorry for what I said before." Two tears fall down your cheeks. "I'm not okay, and I'm trying but it's so hard. I didn't mean any of it." You look at Penelope who looks like she is about to cry with you. "I love how happy you are because I see such darkness every day. You are light." You look at Derek. "I appreciate your tough love because it helps me be a better person." You move on to Emily. "I love how you try so hard because that shows you care. I don't ever want to lose someone like you." You look at Rossi. "It's because of your experience that helps me. I'm going to make mistakes but I can always count on you to make things right. Prison did something to my mind. I want to be here for this team. I want to do my best..."

You can't even finish your sentence. Spencer reaches over and grabs your hand and you look at him with tears in your eyes.

"We're here for you just like you've always been here for us," JJ says.

"I'm trying, guys. I'm sorry."

"We know. You're doing your best and that's all we ever ask of you," Rossi says.

You're honestly so lucky to have people as amazing as the ones on your team. You don't know if you're going to be okay but you do know you have people to fall back on if you're not.

"Experience is a brutal teacher, but you learn. My god, do you learn." C.S. Lewis.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds angst #criminal minds series rewrite #criminal minds season 5

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vexwerewolf · 1 year ago

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Hello, it is I once again, here with a weird meme build. How would you go about building a hacker Swallowtail at LL6? Standard or Ranger, it doesn't matter which

As it happens, Hacktail isn't a meme build at all - due to the Swallowtail's expansive 20 Sensors and innate +1 tech attack, it's an extremely viable Support pick.

-- SSC Swallowtail @ LL6 -- [ LICENSES ] SSC Swallowtail 2, SSC Dusk Wing 1, HORUS Goblin 1, HORUS Minotaur 2 [ CORE BONUSES ] The Lesson of the Held Image, Full Subjectivity Sync [ TALENTS ] Hacker 3, Spotter 2, Skirmisher 2, Field Analyst 1, Nuclear Cavalier 1 [ STATS ] HULL:2 AGI:2 SYS:2 ENGI:2 STRUCTURE:4 HP:15 ARMOR:0 STRESS:4 HEATCAP:6 REPAIR:6 TECH ATK:+3 LIMITED:+1 SPD:7 EVA:14 EDEF:12 SENSE:20 SAVE:13 [ WEAPONS ] FLEX MOUNT: Assault Rifle AUX/AUX MOUNT: Nexus (Light) / Nexus (Light) [ SYSTEMS ] H0R_OS System Upgrade I, Neurospike, Metafold Carver, Personalizations, Lotus Projector, Manipulators

I call this one Hacking The Omninet.

Firstly, let's discuss the basics. This build is fragile, as all systems-first Swallowtail builds are going to be. This mech needs heavy co-ordination with your team to focus down threats. Employ cover rigorously, stay behind the lines and make liberal use of the Invisibility from Integrated Cloak. Low survivability is the price you pay for being able to turn an enemy comp inside out.

Your armament is not going to be used very much, and so is very simple - an Assault Rifle for Reliable damage, and dual Light Nexi for enemies with high Evasion. Oracle LMG-Is consume 1 SP a pop and we're not going to sacrifice system space for guns we might never fire.

We have Personalizations on there for a tiny bit of extra HP, and Manipulators for one simple reason: sacrificial system. We don't want to lose our hacking systems, and so if we take Structure damage and lose a system, we dump the robo-hands.

With all that out of the way, let's get to the meat and potatoes of this build: the hacking tools.

We start with H0R_OS System Upgrade I, possibly the best control tool in the game, definitely the best hacking tool in the game. Puppet System lets you reposition enemies in a straight line equal to their Speed any number of times, and unlike every other form of involuntary movement in the game, it triggers reactions, meaning you can open enemies up to Overwatch attacks from your allies. Meanwhile, Eject Power Cores inflicts Jammed, shutting down an enemy's weapons and tech attacks. It isn't repeatable on the same enemy, but this often doesn't matter - shutting down a heavy hitter's weapons for a single turn often buys enough time for your team to kill them outright.

Moving on to Neurospike, a much slept-on Invade system from the Dusk Wing. We're mostly in this for Shrike Code, which is a very powerful control tool in Lancer's mid-to-late game. At Tiers 2 and 3, a lot of enemy NPC classes get multiattacks, allowing them to use their weapon twice or even thrice every time they attack with it (including during Overwatch). But Shrike Code applies 2 heat per attack, not per action, meaning that a multiattacker who attacks twice will accrue 4 heat in addition to the (at least) 2 heat you put on them with Invade, which can put them close to or at their heat cap. Neurospike also provides the more situational but still useful Mirage, which allows you to make a member of your team (including you) Invisible to a member of the enemy team.

The third and final Invade suite, Metafold Carver, is the weirdest and most difficult to use correctly, but once you master it, it becomes one of the most effective support tools in the game. The biggest trick here is that the primary targets for both of its options are not your enemies - they're your allies. Your allies can choose to accept an Invade from you without taking heat and without it counting as an attack. Once you understand this, your third eye will open and the absurd power of Metafold Carver will be unlocked.

Ophidian Trek allows you to teleport your target a minimum of 2 and a maximum of seven spaces directly towards you. This is impossibly useful for yanking your allies out of melee combat or dangerous terrain, or summoning help if you're getting flanked. You generally don't want to use this on enemies who are already close to you, but pulling hostile backliners towards your team's melee specialist is exceptionally cool and funny.

Fold Space completely removes its target from the battlefield until they start their next turn. The problem with using this on enemies is that they can decide when their turn starts, and if they have an activation remaining, it will often be "immediately after your turn ends," wasting this power - although if they've already taken their turn, you can use it to ruin enemies that rely on reactions to be useful, such as the Sentinel or Archer.

The primary utility of Fold Space, however, is that it's without a doubt the most powerful ally-focused Invade in the game. This ability can quite literally be a lifesaver. Ally went too hard on their reactor and became Exposed? Fold Space. Ally took a bad structure roll and became Stunned? Fold Space. Ally being swarmed by melee NPCs? Fold Space. Ally messing up the shot of your team's artillery? Fold Space. Ally talking too much? Fold Space. You make them completely invulnerable at the "cost" of removing them from the battlefield, which they only even care about if they're a reaction-focused build, and they decide how long they want to stay on vacation, because they can return to the battlefield at any time by starting their turn.

In terms of other support abilities, we have a beautiful SSC/HORUS combo: at the start of an ally's turn, you can Lock On to an enemy as a reaction with Lesson of the Held Image and use your Prophetic Scanners frame trait to inflict Shredded as well. This lets you strip all damage reduction off an enemy just before your ally winds up to hit them, with no chance to react or clear it.

You also have Lotus Projector to help your allies deal with Invisible enemies - standard Swallowtail stuff.

As for talents, we have Hacker to give you even more Invade options (mostly Hack./Slash for shutting down enemy tech attackers) and help with heatgunning (Nuclear Cavalier 1 is in there too, just for kicks), Spotter to provide aim assist and hand out free Lock Ons and Field Analyst to help avoid "missed it by that much" situations.

As previously stated, this is a heavily team-focused build. You are a Support/Controller to the maximum here. Expect to go entire fights without doing a single point of damage. Coordinate heavily with your team to focus targets down and ensure that you stay safe while lighting targets up for them.

#lancer #lancer rpg #lancerrpg #lancer-rpg #swallowtail

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