#general tw for tragedy

[thelonelyshore-if]

weird thought, but itll be good to die in willows arms. like the angst yknow, lmao my bad, love our lil sib

Damn y'all sure do love your angst 😭

That being said, I am a patented Tragedy Enjoyer lmao so I can't really talk. Love characters and stories that are doomed from the start.

Though dying in Willow's arms might not be as easy as you'd think. They're not really the type to just let MC go peacefully ;)

[violetheart77]

aw hell nah macarena got tedward starin down the Watchers With A Thousand Eyes 😩 👁👁👁👁👁👁👁

(cursed bonus under the cut)

✨✨✨ Now with 500% more Catboy Ted! ✨✨✨

[hwanswerland]

regardless of who it is, calling for someone to be removed from a group because they may be dating someone seems a liiiiittle bit over the top

[the-baddest-of-batches]

Dar'Aliit: Chapter Eight - Aftermath (Sneak Peek)

20 BBY Capital City Manuk

“Kian, get over here!” Shave drags Mer’en’s limp body from the flames. I don’t remember if I blacked out or when I came to, but I’m up now, clutching the side of my helmet and looking up to where Shave appears like a ghost from mist.

I stumble forward and grab Mer’ens other arm. Turning, I can see the whole city. Shave was right.

It’s gone. Flames and smoke. It looks like parts of the walls were affected. Where we are, close to the back gate, we’ve been entirely cut off. It looks like one of the towers collapsed and formed a barrier across the city center. We could route it, but there’s destruction everywhere. I grip Mer’en’s arm. The sergeant groans.

“Aftermath? Bevik?” I pant.

“Here,” Aftermath’s voice comes weakly over the comms before they return to static. “My head hurts, though.”

“Get up, and get over here,” Shave demands.

Aftermath appears, limping. He looks around. “We’re cut off.”

“We have to get out of the city. This whole thing was rigged,” Shave says, his voice edging on snapping. “And we have to get the sergeant to safety.”

“Bevik?” I ask, a broken record at this point.

Aftermath looks around. Then he bursts forward and races toward the epicenter of the impact. Shave turns his head. “Aftermath, get back here!”

Aftermath charges without answering. I cling to Mer’en and try not to let my body collapse as badly as it wants to. My ribs are sore and my throat stings.

Moments later, Aftermath returns. All he carries is a helmet. He says nothing, but the helmet is clearly Bevik’s.

Was Bevik’s.

“Let’s go,” Shave says. “We need to make for the gate.”

“We have no cover there,” Aftermath says.

“The droids are gone.”

“Then who did this!”

Shave hefts Mer’en higher on his shoulder. “I told you, this was a trap. We need to move before it becomes our grave. Now head for the breach in the wall and follow me!”

I don’t dare argue. I agree with Aftermath, but also with Shave. There are no good options. So I limp along and help carry the sergeant to the breach in the wall where we carefully pull him over the debris and out into the open. Aftermath leaps over. He picks up a blaster along the way and keeps it trained on our surroundings as Shave settles Mer’en against the wall. He works the sergeant’s helmet off.

“You with me, sir?”

Mer’en’s eyes flicker. I crouch close and keep half an eye out as well. We can’t afford to become sitting targets.

“Right, well, halfway,” Shave mutters. He reaches back and hisses a curse. His medical pack is shattered. Shave stands up. “You two, stay right here. Protect him.”

I nod. Standing, I move beside Aftermath. I don’t have my gun anymore. Kriff it all. Aftermath glances back at me and my empty hands.

“Go grab one off the droids,” he says.

“There’s plenty around here.” He gestures to the graveyard from only a few hours earlier.

He’s right.

I jog out and pick up one of the better looking blasters. It’s still got a few rounds left. I sling it across my back and pick up a second before retreating. I can’t help from checking on the sergeant as I return. Mer’en has his eyes open but I’ve seen rookies who took a hit get the same dazed look as they fight off unconsciousness.

“Sir?” I take up position on the other side with my back to Mer’en. “You staying with us?”

Mer’en coughs. “I’m fine. Just keep a close eye out, we,” he breaks off, gasping. “Might. Not be alone.”

“Rest, sir,” Aftermath snaps. “Shave will be back.”

I scan the perimeter. The forest has about a one klick radius around the city, giving space for the road. I can’t see into the foliage, though. The purple and blue underbrush as well as the thick trunked trees obscure everything. So I listen to the chattering of alien birds and the rush of wind in branches.

I feel like I’ve been holding my breath ever since we landed. Something is waiting for us but I can’t see it, I can’t hear it, I don’t even know if it’s real.

Mer’en coughs loud. Aftermath retreats a step and is out of my peripheral. I see an incoming message. Private line. I accept the message on my HUD with a tap on my commlink and Aftermath’s voice comes through loud and clear.

“Shave might not get back in time.”

I won’t ask what he means because it’s blatantly and painfully obvious. “Do you have your medkit?”

“No, you?”

I check. Shave didn’t ask for either of ours and now I see why. It’s gone. There’s a scorch mark across my armor and I do feel bruised, but half my gear is missing. I put my hand back to my blaster and stiffen. “We’ll have to wait for him. I don’t think there’s much out here that’s bigger than us.”

“You sure about that?” Aftermath’s boots crunch back another step.

A screech echoes overhead and I look up. We didn’t get time to read up on this planet. There was barely enough time for Shave to pull me aside in the interim in order to get bacta on my face and remove some of my bandages.

But I don’t need a debriefing to know this creature looks and sounds mad. Wide see through wings spread overhead, a purple domed head with horns sticking up where ears should’ve been. It screams.

Mer’en gasps and I whirl around. He’s trying to get up. “Stay down, sir!” I hiss.

Mer’en grabs the rubble anyway. He sticks out his hand. “Give me the second blaster, Kian.”

“No, you’re injured!”

“Give it.” He insists with a simple outstretching of his hand.

Aftermath trains his blaster on the creature. “Kian we need to move out of here!”

“I know!” I look at Mer’en and then at the circling creature. Reminds me of a carrion bird circling the dead, except we aren’t dead. I look at the city, though. There’s more of them. I turn quickly and ignore Mer’en’s weak protest.

“Should be weak somewhere, right?” I ask Aftermath.

“We can’t waste shots.”

“Eyes then.”

He glances at me and then nods firmly. “Eyes.”

The creature has bulging white eyes. It moves erratically, darting in and out of my range. I track it as it circles, closer, closer, almost there, just a little closer.

“Shoot it!” Mer’en orders from behind me. I squeeze off the shot. Aftermath fires at the same time.

In a tangle of wings, smoke, and screaming, the beast recoils and falls. It crashes to the ground, still twitching.

“Take that!” Aftermath sinks several more bullets into its fleshy hide. It lays still.

“There will be more,” Mer’en breathes.

He’s on his feet, somehow, and gripping the rubble. “We need. Need to go.”

“Where?” Aftermath asks. “We don’t know where Shave is and we have no medical supplies.”

Mer’en staggers. He grabs Aftermath’s shoulder. “We have to regroup. Shave is. He’s smart. He’ll. Find us.”

Aftermath looks at me. I nod. The sergeant has a point and if we don’t move Shave might not find anything here but bones. The alien vultures have begun to circle the smoking city.

“Alright,” Aftermath sighs. He grabs Mer’en and drags the sergeant’s arm over his shoulder. “Kian, keep a look out for more of those nasty birds.”

“Got it.” I train my blaster skyward.

Aftermath taps his comm. “Shave if you can hear me, or if you can’t, we’re going to try and find somewhere to regroup. Meet us when you can.”

He cuts the comms and we limp off in the direction of the wall. Mer’en keeps up, somehow, though he’s panting. I keep my blaster trained, eyeing every vulture that takes too wide of a swing.

We aren’t dead yet, kriffing vermin.

We reach the corner and Mer’en is struggling. Aftermath slows and pokes his head around the corner. “I don’t see anyone,” he says. “I think–”

Mer’en coughs worse than before. I drop my blaster. “Sir–”

“You gotta sit,” Aftermath practically shoves Mer’en down. He kneels beside him and I assume we both try to ignore the blood running down the sergeant’s chin. I know I do. I don’t want to admit the truth as many times as I might be forced to.

Mer’en leans his head back. The exhaustion is clear on his wearied and worried brow. Aftermath kneels beside him.

“Can you make it, sir?”

“I just gotta,” Mer’en struggles, “rest.”

Aftermath looks at me. He shakes his head. I clutch the droid blaster to my chest and kneel beside him.

Mer’en’s eyelids droop as he coughs.

“So, what farm are you gonna buy me?” Aftermath asks, but his voice is quiet.

Mer’en just stares up at the sky.

I tap my fingers against the blaster and look around. Surely Shave should be back by now and looking for us. If he can just get here in time. I’m shaking my own head at myself and I hate myself for it.

But this is the truth I keep denying. We’re canon fodder. Expendable. We’re clones.

Every mission survived is one step closer to the grave. We’re all marching to our deaths.

Glancing back, I see that Aftermath has taken to staring at his boots. He’s never been quiet this long but I don’t feel like speaking either. There’s nothing to say.

Aftermath peeks up at me. I look back.

Mer’en’s eyes are unfocused but directed at the sky. The color has all left his face. I can see the red blip on my HUD telling me there’s not a vital sign left in him.

I’ve seen so many mangled and broken bodies of people I knew, with faces that looked identical to mine. So many that the peaceful look on Mer’en’s face leaves me cold.

Aftermath gets up. He takes Mer’en’s helmet and sets it beside the sergeant. Aftermath salutes. “So long, sir.”

I struggle up and stiffly salute. “See you on the other side.”

“Let's go,” Aftermath mutters. He pokes his head back around the corner and then looks up as a faint screech echoes closer. “We can’t stay here.”

#

Voices. I can hear voices. Aftermath and I are met with a wall of rubble, though. One of the walls collapsed outward after the explosion. The tower is behind us, though, and I can see a bit of a path through the city that routes inward around the rubble.

Aftermath looks back at me, and the gaping hole in the wall. “I think we ought to go through the city now.”

I look back. Still no sign of Shave.

“We need to be careful.”

The vultures overhead have so far left us alone, but I’ve heard blaster fire and seen a few more fall. I’ve already shot down two myself. I lift my blaster as Aftermath retreats beside me.

“We stick together,” he warns. I nod and we veer toward the rubble. It’s easy to climb inside. It’s still carnage. The smoke has been billowing overhead and grown darker, but the fires appear to be burning lower than they were earlier.

There’s bodies scattered as we pick along the edge of the town staying away from the worst of it.

A vulture sails past us, claws extended for the white armored body mangled on the ground.

“Get away!” I yell and jerk around, firing several successive shots. The vulture screams and spreads its flimsy wings. I sink two bolts through them. It sails off wounded.

I lower my blaster and jog toward the body just to see who it is.

“Kian!” Aftermath calls out, but he says nothing more after that. I ignore him and kneel. It’s horrifying. I roll the man onto his back, hopeful maybe to find a life sign, but my HUD is already telling me this guy is long gone. My eyes confirm the fact. His face is nothing but melted skin. The plastoid armor he wears is practically fused to the bodysuit. I can’t even recognize shared features with the amount of damage.

Aftermath walks up behind me. “C’mon,” he says.

I stand up and grip the borrowed blaster tight in my hands. I nod.

Aftermath shades his helmet visor. This time he pulls away from me and heads deeper into the city. I jerk to my senses and follow him.

Fire smolders on purple wood. I look around but I don’t see anything until Aftermath comes to a stop in the middle of a damaged roadway. It’s two bodies this time, but one of them is familiar.

Aftermath drops to one knee. “Shave,” he jerks the man onto his back.

His hissed curses are audible over the comm line. I creep up behind, glancing at the smoky sky before looking down.

“He’s gone,” Aftermath sighs. He slams his fist on the ground. “Kriff it all!”

Shave’s body is mangled worse than the last. I recognize the paint on his armor but beyond that it almost looks like something…ate the skin off, leaving muscle, sinew, and bone clinging to armor. The bodysuit is shredded. I’m not even sure I’d call his corpse human anymore. The body beside him is no better, missing whole limbs.

It’s clear Shave stopped to help and likely fell prey to the vultures. I swallow hard.

Aftermath curses a few more times and finally, stands up. I can’t keep looking so I train my eyes on the sky until I know he’s ready to leave.

“Can we at least bury the body?” I ask.

“No time,” Aftermath sighs. “I’m gonna shoot the next vulture I see right through the face.”

I nod. I don’t know if I’m finally numb to it by now, or if the helplessness has just set in, but I’m too disturbed to mourn.

We leave. Picking through rubble and bodies and shooting down the occasional vulture, we make our way toward another broken wall. I hear the voices again. Aftermath breaks into a run, and I follow him as he vaults over broken stone. Through it, through the smoke, I see the first good news of all afternoon: Living breathing clones.

“Sir!” Someone points us out. “More survivors.”

I land on the other side of the rubble and am almost overwhelmed by the others crowding in and grasping our shoulders, clapping our backs. We made it. I pant and finally loosen my grip on the blaster.

“Thank goodness,” I hear someone breathe. It sounds like General Kenobi. He stands off to the side near General Nidor, both of them dusted in smoke with scorched robes. It looks like the survivors have collected behind the bones of downed tanks now forming a barricade near the wall of the city. There aren’t many of us, but we’re alive.

“Listen up!” General Nidor’s voice booms across the yard. I turn. General Nidor stalks forward with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Our numbers may be thin, but I know of a small farming settlement forty clicks east. They were not evacuated because there was no time. If we can make it to the settlement we will restore communications with the Harbinger and send for aid.”

“The droids appear to have left,” Kenobi cuts in and bows his head to General Nidor. “If we can confirm this fact, I believe we can consider this a victory despite,” his brow furrows and his eyes are dark with sympathy, “our losses.”

“Let's go home,” calls out the Captain, who by some miracle appears to have survived.

Home. I look at Aftermath and he grabs my shoulder. I’m with him, we’re both ready to get off this forsaken rock.

part 2 coming tomorrow 4/28!

[shesboundtobruise]

          HER DAYS IN GREENVILLE WERE NUMBERED, that much had been clear. It had been why she went and met up with Eddie in the first place. To say goodbye without letting on to anything. To kiss him one last time with him thinking he’d see her again. He had caught on though, so in tune with her detachment, as subtle as it was, and things turned into a fight. She promised him it wouldn’t be the last time. She swore.

                                                                    She lied.

On the way home, she gave herself a deadline. Two days. In two days, she’d finish packing up the scraps of her life she wanted to keep and leave. For someone ready and willing to shed even her own skin, this seemed easy enough; she’d already begun cramming the essentials in the trunk of her car. As far as she was concerned, Greenville held nothing for her anymore, save the one person she just broke for the last time and the family of the boy whose demise was her fault. She was sparing herself the ghosts and sparing them all the heartbreak…

Lou grimaced when she saw Stanley’s cruiser in the driveway, hoping he would have opted for an overnight shift since he’d been more awful in the preceding days. He tended to get like that around Ida’s birthday. They both did.

The house lay fairly silent in the darkness, except for the low hum of the television in the living room, pretty standard for three in the morning at the Wolfe residence. Figuring she’d be in for a fight the moment she walked across the threshold, she braced herself, teeth gritted, keys tucked between fingers in case she needed defending. She wouldn’t just take the abuse this time. Not now. Not so close to escaping.

But there was no looming shadow in the doorway, no light flicking on or drunken, rumbling voice to stop her. Instead, as she closed in on the room, she encountered a sleeping figure, slumped in his chair, empty bottle of whiskey beside him. The television in front of him played scenes from her childhood, her pageants, birthdays, Ida’s smiling face. In her father’s lap sat a family portrait from years past, before things went to hell.

All the memories came back to her, the good ones, and the bad, and they overwhelmed her so much that she felt sick to her stomach. How dare he drag these things out? How dare he watch them as if nothing happened, as if he wasn’t the one who ruined it all?

She took a step back, holding back the sobs that wanted to burst from her, allowing the rage and disgust take over instead as she glared down at him. A glare flashed off his old revolver on the coffee table with her movement and it took no conscious thought to reach for it. The action was involuntary. He deserved what was coming to him and she deserved to bring it.

The weapon felt heavy in her hands as she aimed it, drawing closer to the slumbering man, each step feeling more important than the last, until the muzzle pressed against his forehead. Lou’s finger curled around the trigger as her father’s eyes blinked open and after a few seconds, focused on her, as if he knew it would be the end, as if he’d expected it.

Without a word, she pulled back the hammer. Stanley didn’t budge, only staring up at her as she looked back at him with every ugly emotion he ever bestowed upon her.

It was the end. All thoughts of leaving Greenville, starting over far away, left her, replaced by the knowledge that her life ended here, with his. It only caused her to push the gun harder against his skull.

“I’m sorry, Louise.”

It took her a moment to realize he had actually spoken, too stuck in everything in her head, but when she did, when his words replayed in her mind, when she registered what he’d croaked out and that tears flooded his eyes as he did, she stopped breathing. He repeated himself and her eyes widened, saline that had collected spilled down her cheeks, and the haze of deep crimson hatred broke. Her hand shook as she took a step away and then another, weapon dropping from twitching fingers. Before long she was out the door, back in Roosevelt and peeling out of her neighborhood...

Never to return.

[blue-jasmine2yas]

the 20 year old urge to learn something new, thwarted by a parent who just doesn’t want you to be happy. 

[yanderenightmare]

Ryomen Sukuna

TW: captive reader, no-name character deaths, Sukuna in general

fem reader

Sukuna, in his true form some thousand years ago, carrying you on his arm so that your feet and dress don’t stain with the blood on the floor. A sea of carnage he’d laid to waste only a moment ago—soldiers sent to slaughter the monster’s concubine, a heathenness whore. They’d fallen no different from flowers trampled underfoot.

It's a tragedy. If anyone could free you from his prison, it would have been them.

A heavy finger catches the tear dribbling down your face before it can fall to join the red below. “Don’t water them with your tears,” he says, bringing the droplet to his lips. “Not even in death do they deserve it.”

You view his second face—the warped array of eyes upon an inhuman mask—as a punishment from the Gods for his vile ways. 

“Did you think I’d find it flattering?” you ask sharply through the sorrow. “Murder in my name?”

Nothing betrays the look in his garnet eyes, nor does the way he holds you. He simply lets you sit there, upon him like a thrown, admonishing him no less—as if he hadn’t just saved your life from a thousand swords.

“I don’t,” you bite out when he doesn’t answer. “It sickens me. I curse whichever part of me attracted such a monster.”

That makes him smile. “I’m afraid that’s all of you, turtledove.” He turns you around in his many arms and lays you to rest like a bride. “From your toes to the finest hair atop your head—I covet it all—like treasure.”

He doesn’t rush while wading through the filth who’d tried to take you away from him, basking in their still-warm blood as if soaking his feet with their failure. He would have made it long-lasting if they’d come close enough to breathe the same air as you. But since you’d begged for him to spare them, he’d acted with mercy—making their deaths quick and all but painless.

The things he does for you.

“Does it frighten you to be the only one I care about?” he asks.

You look disgusted. He finds it rather cute.

 “No,” you reply. “It simply hurts.”

He throws his head back and laughs then—boisterously. The echo rings throughout the temple, even making ripples in the red. When he looks down at you again, he bears a great smile.

“Fine then, as you wish.” Evidence of his amusement remains while he speaks. “I won’t subject you to any more carnage from this moment onward.”

You know better than to take him for his word—especially when that awful grin stretches his face.

“No, I shall rather keep you tucked away where no one will ever dare go looking—and before I even dare come see you myself, I’ll make sure to have washed the filth off first so as not to trouble your pretty head with my savage habits. Now, does that sound satisfactory to you, my Queen?”

He’s mocking you, you surmise—cooing at you, laughing at the way you mourn. But it shouldn’t surprise you. If he can rip people to shreds without so much as batting any of his eyes, making light of their deaths isn’t all that more of an offense.

“All this inanity has given me an appetite,” he states with a hearty sigh—dismissing any further argument. “Let’s find Uraume and eat.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[unnamedmedicalprofessional]

tw mention of child neglect

I think some people, including me before I analyzed the opening scenes of the Eleventh Hour more closely, assume Amy's abandonment issues are just about being abandoned by The Doctor, but there's way more to it than that. Her parents had disappeared for reasons she had no capacity to understand, and she's left with her aunt who's heavily implied to be neglectful (leaving a child home alone completely unsupervised) and who she says she'd be lucky not to have. She also doesn't fit in as the only Scottish girl in the English village and frankly just an odd person in general.

When The Doctor says he'll come back, she says people always say that like she knows from experience. The tragedy of what The Doctor accidentally did to her is that she finally however breifly met an adult that cared about her only to have that ripped away again and having others disbelief in him only alienate her from others further. She keeps getting taken to psychiatrists and biting them. It's worth noting that even though it was an accident, it was incredibly callous of The Doctor to promise he'd be five minutes when he knows the TARDIS has a long history of being unreliable. Rule one The Doctor lies, not just as part of plans, but also to pretend to be a version of himself that's actually responsible and reliable.

And that's why she has so much trouble healthily expressing her love for Rory, because deep down she's afraid he'll abandon her to. That's also why Amy needs Rory, because there is nobody less likely to abandon Amy Pond than Rory Williams.

[minotaurs-my-beloved]

Your first lesson in riding

Cowboy minotaur my beloved<33

TW: nothin! i just love minotaurs and this has been sittin in my drafts for like months. forgive me if the dialogue isn't the best, im not used to writing it

In an attempt to get a fresh start on life, you and a really close friend had recently moved to a new small town in the south thinking it'd be the perfect place. And after a long first day at work, you decided to go to the local bar, wanting to let loose a bit after the stress of moving and your job. 

Standing at the bar, you rest your crossed arms on the wood, ordering a drink. Keeping to yourself because, let's be honest, none of us have the confidence to ever go up to anyone, only to hear someone come up and stand next to you. Flicking your eyes over to see who it is and being graced with the sight of a big, burly, minotaur. His brown short furred body ripples with muscles still visible even through his shirt, shaggy hair slightly covering his eyes, white hat sitting on his head nuzzled between his big sharp horns. 

"Oh... oh he's fuckin' pretty" is all you can think as you stare unabashedly at the man. After a second he feels your gaze and turns slightly to face your direction, the both of you locking eyes. Blushing hard you quickly rip your gaze from him, mentally crying that you no longer get to drool over his Herculean body, a Greek tragedy indeed, but you're far too embarrassed at being caught to try again.

He huffs out a laugh though his cute cow snout at your reaction, the gold bull ring shining in the fairly dim lighting. 

"You must not be from 'roun here, haven't seen you before. Names Mason." He growls out softly, staring down at his drink, a smile on his lips. It takes you a second to understand what he said, your mind lagging like my old ass computer. Turning to him you give him your name then answer him, "I just moved here bout a week ago." You respond, downing your shot, hoping it'll give you some courage, but all it does is burn your throat. He takes a slow sip of his own drink, setting it down, and facing you, "Pretty name for a pretty girl." 

Turning around to lean your back against the wood, you tease him, laughing, "Bit generic." All while trying to ignore that, generic or not, it still made you feel a few butterflies. 

He chuckles, moving to stand in front of you, "Sorry, darlin', I don't get to flirt much with women." You raise your eyebrows slightly at that comment, clearly not believing he doesn't get attention. 

"Mhmmm'' You grin, rolling your eyes playfully. "What? M'bein' serious! I mean sure, they come up to me, but 'm rarely interested enough to actually hold a conversation." He defends, raising his hands and chuckling.  "Oh? Well lucky me, being deemed worthy of your presence," you tease. He nods, leaning over you to grab his drink and take a sip while looking down at you, jokingly humming in agreement.

The tension is thick in the air as you stare at him, lips slightly parted. Without taking the time to actually think about your next move, you raise yourself on your tiptoes, just managing to reach the brim of his hat and pull it off. Placing it on top of your own, you grin up at him. 

He takes a deep breath turning his head to the side and clicking his tongue quietly, just barely managing to contain himself at how damn good you look wearing his hat. 

"You done got me riled, sweetheart. You can't be waltzin' around wearin' a cowboy's hat like that. Gonna give folks the wrong idea."

"Mm, and why is that?"

"There's some old sayin about if you wear a cowboy's hat, you gotta go home wit' 'im. Means nothin' to me, but, everything gets exaggerated and rumors spread like a wildfire in a small town like this." He warns, but that only fuels you more, "What if I want that?" You purr in a low tone, grinning as you run the pad of your thumb on the brim of the hat.

"Fuckin' tease," He growls in response. "You really want that?"

"M'wearin' your hat, aren't I?"

He takes you by the hand, leading you outside to his truck. It's extremely stupid to get in the car with a stranger but you do it anyway, he's just too good to give up. You do send your friend a quick text explaining the situation and give her your location, so at least you weren't completely defenseless.

If anyone were to ask you what his house looks like you'd have no answer, the both of you were far too busy messily kissing to notice literally anything around you. Kicking the door shut and throwing you down on the bed, he starts to slowly undress you. All except the hat.

He spreads your thighs apart, squeezing them while kissing up and down the inner part, leaving little bite marks in his wake, teasing his tongue just around your cunt.

"Stop teasin'!" You whine, bucking your hips slightly, furrowing your brow and pouting. "Yes Ma'am," he lazily salutes, before burying his tongue deep inside your cunt, moaning into your pussy at how good you taste. The vibrations make your eyes roll back, your leg kicking slowly in pleasure. He keeps intense eye contact with you as he laps at your pussy, sloppily making out with your cunt. Flicking his tongue on your clit, he slowly pushes one of his thick fingers inside, beginning to stretch you out.

Three fingers deep, you cum all over his hands and face, your thighs shaking as you pull his hair harshly and scream his name. That only encourages him to go faster, sucking on your clit til you push his head away.

He gives you a cocky grin, licking his fingers clean and giving you one more kiss on your thigh. Tapping your ass twice, he pants, "C'mon, baby, wear the hat, ride the cowboy. Up." Still shaking slightly, you get on you knees, throwing your leg over his body to straddle him.

Groaning as you grind down on him, his fingers press into your skin, leaving little indents on your hips. You lift off of him for a moment to pop the tip in before slowly sinking down on his massive cock, whimpering at the stretch. Stopping half way to catch your breath, he rubs little circles on your skin to soothe you, "You're doin' such a damn good job, darlin', real proud of yah."

He continues to praise you as you begin to take the rest of him. Cautiously, you begin to ride his cock, moaning as he hits every single spot deep inside you. "M-mason! Fuck, so deep!" You rest both of your hands on his chest, using them to help you bounce up and down, whining each time his dick slams deeper into you, tears already beginning to form in the corners of your eyes.

He groans, throwing his head back and slapping your ass, moaning out more praise, loving to watch you keen at his words. After a while he notices your thighs trembling and starts helping you lift your hips. "G-gonna cum!" You choke out, he grabs your face, forcing you to look down into his eyes.

"Don't you dare look away." Mason growls, your body forces you to listen, trying your hardest not to let your eyes roll back as you clamp down on your cock, milking him for all he's worth. He holds your hips still as he rams up into you, filling you up with his hot cum.

You collapse onto the bed, the both of you sweaty and panting, Mason reaches over, hooking his arm over your waist and pulling you into his chest, putting his head atop your own.

You're never giving this man up.

[thewulf]

Unseen Scars || Aaron Hotchner

Summary: Request - hiyaa, i was hoping you were willing to write another Hotch x bau!reader. Maybe one where reader is in an unhappy/ toxic relationship, maybe abvsive even. And Hotch helps reader learn that what her significant other is doing is wrong, and he even helps reader get out of the absive relationship. And somewhere along the way he says something along the lines of “i can love you so much better than them”.

A/N: Not sure if I love this one. Kinda tough to write. Let me know your thoughts below.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader,

Word Count: 4.2k

TW: Abuse (physical and mental), bruises, scars, talks of hitting, general CM triggers

You've been working alongside Aaron Hotchner for nearly a decade. Each year adding layers to a complex yet unspoken bond. As senior agents in the BAU you've shared long nights on cases. Him as your superior but respecting you as his equal. Both supported each other through victories and losses. You had the kind of mutual respect that's created from high-stress environments. Through it all there's always been an underlying current of attraction between you two. Subtle yet undeniable no matter how hard you tried to fight it.

When Hotch was married to Haley he was completely off-limits. It was a boundary you’d never dram of crossing. One you respected without question even as your friendship deepened. Then tragedy struck with Haley's death and while you were there to support him your own life was tangled in a serious relationship. By the time your relationship crumbled Hotch had started seeing Beth. And like the cruel joke life was, timing kept you apart once again.

Eventually, that relationship too ended for Hotch. But by then you had drifted into the arms of someone new. Someone the whole team disliked from the start. You brought him to a team dinner once and it was enough to know that no one approved even though they wouldn’t outright say it. He was arrogant, dismissive, and rubbed everyone the wrong way. But you were in a vulnerable place feeling lonely and somewhat unlovable after your string of failed relationships. He was there though. He was persistent and in a weak moment that felt like enough.

Despite the obvious red flags, you clung to the relationship out of a misplaced sense of necessity. You’d convinced yourself that any attention was better than the loneliness that echoed too loudly in the corners of your life. Yet, as the months wore on the relationship took a darker turn. It left you isolated not just from your friends and colleagues but from your own sense of self. You were slowly losing yourself to a man who hardly meant a thing to you.

You texted Hotch early in the morning. Your fingers hesitating over the keyboard before you sent a simple message: Running late today, see you by midday. The message feels sterile, too impersonal for the turmoil churning inside you. But you can't afford to say more. Not when every moment feels like a step through a minefield.

It's nearly noon when you finally push through the front doors of the BAU office with your mind rehearsing the excuses you might need. The bruise hidden beneath your scarf isn't just a reminder of last night's horror. It's a stark, physical manifestation of a boundary cruelly crossed. It wasn’t the first time he’d laid hands on you, but it was the first time it left a mark visible enough to demand a story. A story you hadn't yet managed to straighten out in your head. And if anybody was going to catch you in a lie it was Aaron Hotchner.

As you enter the building the buzz of the office feels both alien and overly familiar, a stark contrast to the silence you’d left behind at your apartment. You try to blend into the activity, nodding along to conversations you barely hear, laughing at jokes that don’t reach your eyes. You keep your posture deliberately casual, avoiding any movement that might shift your scarf and expose the truth lying so treacherously close to the surface.

From his office Hotch had been subtly watching your delayed arrival and your interactions with the team. His concern deepens with each forced smile and carefully measured laugh you muster. He's always respected your privacy. But today the instincts honed by years of profiling scream that something is terribly wrong with you. When the office finally starts to empty for the day, leaving behind the quiet hum of machines and the soft rustling of papers, he sees his chance to talk to you.

"Could I speak with you for a moment before you head home?" Hotch’s invitation comes just as you’re preparing to escape into the welcome anonymity of the evening. His voice is gentle. But there’s an undercurrent of urgency that stops you in your tracks. Reluctantly, you nod you head and followed him into the sanctuary of his office. The door closed softly behind you leaving you trapped with the one person who could unravel you with a simple look.

Inside his office the usual barriers of rank and protocol seem to fall away as he leans against his desk. His eyes were not just those of a supervisor, but of a friend—a protector. "I’ve noticed you’ve been different lately," he begins. His tone soft but firm. "You said you were running late today… but I can't help feeling there’s something more to it." His eyes briefly scan the edge of your scarf before meeting yours with a piercing intensity. "If there's anything you need to talk about, I'm here."

In that moment with the weight of his gaze and the sincerity in his voice the carefully constructed excuses crumble. The reality of your situation, so starkly isolated by his understanding, begins to seep through the cracks of your facade and you feel the first real breath of relief mixed with fear as you consider confiding the truth.

Hotch's eyes were filled with a deep, unmistakable concern. They stay locked on yours as he waits for your response. You feel the weight of his gaze, heavy with unspoken questions and worry. For a brief moment you consider continuing the charade. Brush off his concerns with a practiced smile and a reassurance that you're just tired, overstressed from the workload.

"Really, Hotch, I’m fine," you say. Your voice was steady at first but even as the words leave your lips they sound hollow. Unconvincing even to your own ears. His expression doesn’t waver. Those knowing eyes don’t buy the half-hearted lie.

"Are you sure?" he presses. His tone soft yet insistent. "Because if something—or someone—is hurting you, I want to help." He gave you that look. The one that he knew would break you down. The one that he used only when necessary.

You shake your head though. A simple reflex to protect your precarious world. But your facade is cracking, fissures widening under his gentle scrutiny. "It’s nothing, really. Just been a bit clumsy lately," you attempt to deflect again. But your voice wavers, betraying the turmoil inside.

Hotch's brow furrows slightly. His concern only deepening as he notices the strain behind your words. When you turn away, unable to meet his probing gaze any longer, a tear escapes trailing down your cheek. Your shoulders tremble with barely suppressed sobs. It was that damn look that had you falling apart. Who knew he could do that to you?

He doesn’t say anything for a heartbeat, allowing the silence to settle around you, heavy and expectant. With careful, measured steps, he closes the distance between you. You sense him nearby. His presence a comforting shadow in your moment of vulnerability.

“Hey,” Hotch’s voice is a soft whisper now. When he gently places a hand on your shoulder, it’s an offer, not a demand. You don't pull away and that’s all the confirmation he needs. With tender caution he pulls you into a hug. His arms offering safety, a haven from the storm you’ve been weathering alone. The warmth and solidity of him is grounding and as you lean into his embrace, the dam breaks. Tears were streaming freely now.

He doesn’t rush you nor does he bombard you with questions. He simply holds you, steady and strong, as you let the first wave of relief and acknowledged pain wash over you.

As Hotch's arms encircle you in a gentle embrace a rush of emotions overwhelms you each one more turbulent than the last. Instead of relief a sharp panic claws its way up your chest. The intimacy of the moment, the closeness, it all becomes too much. Your breathing becomes shallow, rapid, as if you can't get enough ai. Your heart pounds against your ribcage, threatening to burst.

"Hotch, I—I can't," you stammer. Your voice choked with rising fear. The room feels as if it's closing in. Each wall inching closer, trapping you in this raw, exposed moment.

He senses the shift immediately with his hold loosening just enough to let you breathe, but he doesn’t let go knowing you need a tether to the present. "Hey, look at me," Hotch says, his voice a calm, steady anchor in the storm of your panic. You barely manage to lift your eyes to his as you were caught in the whirlwind of your emotions.

"Take a deep breath with me, okay?" he guides gently. "In... and out," he continues, his own breaths exaggerated to model a slow, calming rhythm. His eyes are soft, patient, holding yours with a steadiness that feels both terrifying and comforting.

You try to follow as your first attempt is shaky and uneven. But Hotch is there. His presence a constant reassurance. "That’s it, just breathe. In... and out," he repeats with his voice grounding you in the moment. Slowly, the frantic pace of your heart begins to slow. The crushing weight in your chest easing as you synchronize your breathing with his.

"You're safe here with me," Hotch whispers to you. Each word carefully chosen to fortify the fragile peace you're beginning to feel. "Nothing is going to happen to you. I’ve got you. I promise." And you knew that it was indeed a promise. He’d never let anything happen to you if he could stop it.

His reassurances wash over you. His voice was a soothing balm to the raw edges of your panic. Gradually your fear subsides and is replaced by a weary relief. As your breathing evens out Hotch’s arms remain a gentle, unyielding presence around you. In this quiet space with the security of his embrace shielding you from the world outside you finally allow yourself to feel the full weight of your vulnerability—and the strength of the trust you have in him.

The panic attack recedes like a tide going out. It left you drained but inexplicably more grounded than before. Hotch holds you a little while longer making sure you're completely calm before he speaks again. "You’re not alone in this," he assures you as his tone is imbued with an earnestness that makes you believe him. That there might be a way out of the darkness.

As the last of your tears dry Hotch steps back slightly giving you space but keeping his presence comforting and solid. He ushers you to sit without words before pulling up a chair close to yours. His demeanor still radiating calm and concern. You notice his jaw tighten for a moment, a silent tell to his anger at seeing you hurting so openly.

As you finally voice the painful truth, "He's been hurting me, Hotch," the words echo starkly in the quiet office. Saying it aloud makes it all too real. A wave of embarrassment washes over you. Your gaze drops to your hands, fidgeting with the ends of the scarf. You can't bear to meet his eyes as you were afraid of what you might see there—pity, shock, or worse, disbelief.

Your fingers tremble as you slowly unwrap the scarf from around your neck, exposing the harsh evidence of your partner's violence. The bruises are stark against your skin. A palette of black and blue that makes your stomach churn. When Hotch sucks in a breath, a sound of sharp distress, you flinch, the sound bringing home the reality of your exposure.

"I'm so sorry," Hotch breathes out. His voice thick with emotion. You still can't look at him being too overwhelmed by a mix of shame and the relief of finally sharing your burden. The room suddenly feels too small. The air too thick with the weight of your confessed reality.

"You don’t have to go through this alone anymore," Hotch continues. His voice a steady, grounding force in the chaos of your emotions. Despite his words a knot of anxiety tightens in your chest. The vulnerability of the moment making you acutely uncomfortable.

Hotch's chair scrapes softly against the floor as he moves slightly closer. "I'm here, and we'll do whatever it takes to ensure he can't hurt you again," he says with a resolve that is both reassuring and overwhelming. You finally risk a glance up at him, meeting his gaze. Instead of the judgment you feared, you find only deep concern and a protective firmness. You shouldn’t have expected any less than that from him.

Seeing your hesitation and discomfort, Hotch reaches out slowly, giving you time to withdraw if you choose. When his hand gently takes yours, it's a lifeline, solid and warm. "We'll figure this out together," he assures you. His voice low and calm. "Let’s focus on what you need right now."

Tears well up in your eyes as you meet his steady gaze. Your fear of your partner bubbling to the surface. "I'm scared, Hotch," you whisper, your voice breaking with the weight of your admission. "I'm afraid of what he might do if I leave. He could do something drastic..." The possibility hangs heavily between you. A dark cloud of fear.

Hotch squeezes your hand gently. His touch reassuring as it always is. "We'll take every precaution," he promises with his tone imbued with determination. "You're not alone in this. We have resources and procedures to protect you. Trust me Y/N. You're safe."

His words were spoken with such a conviction that slowly penetrate the fog of your fear. The immediate comfort of knowing you're not alone, bolstered by Hotch's unwavering support, helps to steady the tumult inside you. The future may remain uncertain but with Hotch by your side you feel a spark of hope. A hope that perhaps you can break free from the shadows and rebuild your life once again.

The conversation with Hotch stretches late into the evening as a mix of detailed planning and moments of quiet support. Once the office empties and the building quiets Hotch makes a decision. "Why don't you stay with me tonight?" he suggests gently. "It's late and I'd feel better knowing you're safe." You agree, feeling a mix of gratitude and anxiety about the imposition. Hotch reassures you it's no trouble. Together you leave the dimly lit office, stepping into the cool night air that seems to offer a breath of tentative freedom.

The drive to his home is quiet, filled with the soft hum of the car and the distant glow of streetlights. Upon arriving, Hotch introduces you to his home with a warmth that's both inviting and respectful of your space. He shows you to the guest room making sure you have everything you need before he leaves. "Make yourself at home," he says. "We'll figure out the next steps in the morning." You give a grateful nod before heading to bed yourself. It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep after your head hit the pillow. You’d truly never felt safer than you had right then.

The next morning as you make your way to the kitchen, Jack spots you and his face instantly lights up. "You're here!" he exclaims before running towards you with arms wide open. You kneel down just in time to catch him as he launches into a big hug. His enthusiasm bringing a genuine smile to your face. "I missed you!" he chirps, and you can't help but laugh, the sound mingling with his giggles.

Hotch watched the interaction from the doorway and smiles warmly but also feels a pang of concern given your recent ordeal. As Jack wraps his arms around you, Hotch steps forward and gently places a hand on his son's shoulder. "Be careful, buddy," he says softly, his voice tinged with protective caution. "She's a little hurt."

Jack’s expression immediately shifts to one of concern as he pulls back slightly. His bright eyes scanning your face with a mix of confusion and worry. "Did I hurt you more?" he asks, his voice small, his usual cheer replaced by a serious, almost adult-like concern.

You shake your head quickly making sure to offer him a reassuring smile. "No, Jack, you didn’t hurt me at all," you explain while ruffling his hair gently. "I'm just a little sore, that’s all. Your hug is actually just what I needed."

Relieved but still slightly cautious, Jack nods and gives you a gentler, more measured hug this time. Hotch watches this exchange. His own heart swelling with mixed emotions—gratitude for the innocent care Jack shows and a renewed resolve to ensure that both you and his son are kept safe from any harm.

Later as Jack plays outside, Hotch joins you on the porch with a thoughtful expression on his face. He watches his son for a moment before turning to you. His gaze serious yet open. "This morning, seeing you with Jack… the way he lights up around you. It reminded me of something important I've been meaning to share," he chooses his words carefully as he speaks to you.

Your gaze lets him know he can continue. "I ended things with Beth a few months ago," he reveals letting the statement hang in the air for a moment to gauge your reaction. "It was the right decision. My heart wasn't fully in it, and I realized I needed to be honest with myself about my feelings."

You're taken aback. Your surprise evident. "Oh, I... I had no idea. She seemed so lovely," you reply trying to mask your confusion. Beth had always appeared perfect for him. She seemed kind, attentive, and good with Jack.

Hotch nods, acknowledging your point. "She was lovely," he admits, "but she wasn't what I was looking for. Not what Jack needed either." His gaze drifts towards his son, watching him play with a gentle smile.

He then turns back to you with a thoughtful expression. "We needed someone who could really be a part of our lives, understand us. Someone who already fits so seamlessly into our little world," he adds. His eyes held yours for a moment longer than necessary, hinting at deeper layers to his words.

The implication of his statement hangs between you, stirring a mix of emotions between the both of you. His revelation not only adds a new dimension to your understanding of his current situation but also subtly places you at the center of his thoughts. The gentle hint that you might be the answer they needed feels both overwhelming and heartening.

"I just want you to know that I'm here for you, especially now," Hotch continues. His tone sincere. "It's been a tough time and you shouldn't have to go through it alone. Whatever support you need. I'm here."

As you absorb his words, a sense of safety envelops you coupled with a budding realization of the importance of your presence in his life. Not just as a colleague but potentially something more. The careful balance he maintains in offering support while subtly revealing his personal reflections provides a comforting stability as you navigate the complex emotions of your current situation.

Several days had passed since you sought refuge at Hotch's home after breaking things off with your ex. Each day Hotch gently suggests reasons for you to extend your stay. His concern palpable. "Just until we’re sure you’re safe," he reassures you, but his eyes betray a deeper plea for you to remain longer.

One evening after Jack is safely tucked into bed Hotch opens a bottle of wine and pours two glasses. He hands you one with a soft smile that doesn't quite mask his underlying nervousness. "Thought we could use this," he says as he joins you on the couch. The house is quiet, the subtle buzz of the evening creating a cocoon of calm around you.

As you sip the rich wine, the warmth it brings is matched only by the comfort of the familiar space. Hotch breaks the silence first, his voice low and laden with unspoken thoughts. "I’ve been doing a lot of thinking," he starts. Hesitating as he chooses his words carefully. "About what’s important... about what I want for the people I care about."

He pauses before taking a deep breath before meeting your gaze with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. "I want you to stay here a little longer. Not just for safety but because it feels right having you here. These days with you and Jack... they’ve felt more like home than anything I've known in a long time."

The atmosphere shifts charged with an emotion that’s both tender and terrifying. Hotch continues with his voice softening, "I think we could be good for each other… if you're willing to see where this might go."

Moved by his candidness and the earnestness in his eyes you find yourself nodding slightly. Your own emotions mirrored in his expression. "I've felt it too," you whisper. "It’s easy with you. With Jack.."

Hotch reaches out, his hand covering yours. His touch warm and sure. "I can love you so much better than he ever did," he says with a confidence you hadn’t heard from him. His voice deep and resolute. Then, taking another deep breath, he adds, "I love you. I love you with everything in me. More than I ever thought possible."

His confession, raw and powerful, cuts through the last of your reservations. Tears well up in your eyes as you take in the depth of his feelings laid bare in the quiet of the night. This isn't just a moment of comfort. It's a turning point, a beginning of something profound and life-altering.

As you sit there, the night deepening around you, you lean into him with your head resting against his shoulder. "I love you too, Aaron," you admit to him. Your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside you. In the soft glow of the living room, you start to imagine a future that holds not just safety, but a shared life filled with love and understanding.

Two years have woven themselves seamlessly into the fabric of your life with Hotch and Jack. What began as a sanctuary in times of turmoil has blossomed into a full, shared existence, each day deepening the bond between you all. The BAU team, integral to your journey, has watched this transformation and played a part in nurturing your collective happiness.

On a sun-drenched Saturday, Hotch has orchestrated a gathering under the guise of a simple spring barbecue at a picturesque local park. The team is there, along with Jack, who’s energetically darting around with Rossi and Prentiss in a spirited game of soccer. Garcia is setting the mood with a carefully curated playlist while you and JJ are laughing over a shared joke by the picnic tables.

As the afternoon wanes with everyone sated by laughter and good food, Hotch taps his glass gently with a fork drawing eyes with the subtle, familiar command of his presence. The conversations taper off, leaving a blanket of anticipatory silence.

“I’ve spent much of my life dedicated to understanding moments—capturing them before they slip away,” Hotch begins, his voice resonating with a rare tremor of vulnerability. He looks over at you, his eyes shimmering with unspoken words. “But the moments I’ve cherished the most have been with all of you—my team, my family. And especially with you,” he turns fully towards you, taking your hand in his.

Jack, picking up on the significance of the moment, quiets down and moves closer. His young face alight with curiosity and excitement. Hotch’s gaze softens as he kneels in front of you. A gesture that pulls at the heartstrings of everyone present.

“Since you entered our lives, you’ve brought light into shadows I didn’t even know existed. You’ve made a house feel like a home again, and you’ve taught me that love isn’t just a remnant of the past but a promise for the future,” he continues. His voice thick with emotion. From his pocket, he produces a small, velvet box, opening it to reveal a ring that captures the late afternoon sunlight.

“Will you marry me?” His words, simple yet profound, hang in the air.

Tears stream down your cheeks, joyous and unrestrained, as you nod emphatically. Words were lost in the swell of emotions. “Yes, Aaron, yes!”

Jack jumps up, cheering, "She said yes!" His delight infectious bringing the team to erupt into their own cheers. Garcia captures every second, her lens fogging slightly with her own tears.

Spencer, who has been quietly observant, steps forward with a bottle of champagne. “To new beginnings,” he says. His voice steady but emotional, reflecting his deep affection for both of you. He pops the cork, and as the champagne flows, so do the congratulations.

Morgan playfully nudges Hotch, while JJ, ever the emotional heart of the team, hugs you tightly, whispering, “He’s never looked happier.”

You grin to one of your very own best friends. “I’ve never been happier.”

As the evening unfolds with laughter and shared stories, the sense of family deepens. The park was bathed in the glow of sunset, feels like a snapshot of a new chapter. One filled with love and the quiet promise of forever. Your heart, full and overflowing, knows this is just the beginning.

Aaron Hotchner/Criminal Minds: Permanent Taglist (If you'd like to be added to any or all works please fill out the form here: (Taglist Sign Up) @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @daily-evanstan @hardballoonlove @14buddy22 @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @mrs-ssa-hotch @panandinpain0 @viscade @kreepja @il0vebeingdelulu @hiireadstuff @kajjaka @guacam011y

[jointherebellion215]

His Kiss, The Riot

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x female!reader

Summary: When you and your secret lover make plain to Feyd-Rautha your wishes for a life together, despite the proposed arranged marriage, he surprisingly acquiesces. But he can't let you go so easily, can he? Loosely based on the song from Hadestown.

Word Count: 1.6k

TW: manipulation, Dark!Feyd-Rautha, arranged marriage, NONCON elements, gore, violence, she/her pronouns, female!reader, tragedy, star-crossed lovers, songfic, not quite a happy ending (oops), dark dark dark interpretations of Hadestown and the story of Orpheus and Eurydice.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who read If It's True and liked, reblogged, or commented. I appreciate every single one of you. As always, I would love some feedback, likes, comments, and reblogs if you can :)

This is Part Two to my Feydestown trilogy (I'm so sorry for the pun). You can read Part One here.

AO3

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Dune properties, characters, or storylines-- nor do I own anything related to Hadestown. The images used in this are not my own, and any similarities to stories or events other than what are directly referenced are strictly coincidence.

The devil takes this Orpheus

And his belladonna kiss

“So you wanna get married? Take away the woman I just offered my hand to, to whom I all but have legal claim?”

Your beloved’s replied words of affirmation to his words hold the slightest tremor, but like a dog to fresh meat, Feyd-Rautha sniffs this out immediately. Another smile graces his face. Feyd speaks to the crowd now, “Yes, I was promised the Lady’s hand in marriage. But! I am a benevolent figure, so I guess I’ll let the lovebirds go.”

The crowd starts to give polite applause, while your knees grow weak at the news. You can go? Has love really prevailed on this day?

“However,” and with that, your heart drops “I have some conditions for these… nuptials.”

You could sense the air growing thick with tension as the reality of the na-Baron’s ruling twists out of your favor.

“Conditions?” You whispered.

“Of course, my darling! I can’t make this too easy on you, now can I?” Feyd paces back and forth on the steps from which he speaks, making your eyes dart back and forth with each step he takes. Vigilance overtakes your body in case of any rash decisions.

“You two can leave the city, but it won’t be hand in hand. This pair will have to walk in single file, with the boy in the front and my darling Lady at least thirty paces behind. No ships, no speeders, no running. Walking.”

The energy of the room starts to grow more electric as the points of this term seem to set in.

“The Lady cannot speak out or make any indication of her following behind. You’ll be faced forward the whole journey. Once you reach the edge of the city and passed the threshold, you can be together for eternity.”

Your breath hitched. Seems easy enough, right?

“But, if the boy so much as turns his head to check and see if the Lady is following, the deal is off. She’ll return to me, and we will be married.”

Nothing makes a man so bold

As a woman’s smile and a hand to hold

“Is this a trick?” Your beloved asks plainly.

Feyd tilts his head, pacing down the steps to ground level. “Now, what makes you say that? I’m being generous. I’ve set my terms.” He is now nose-to-nose with the man attached to you. 

“Now meet them or face the consequences.”

The hand holding yours is now pooled with sweat. You quickly and subtly jerk the arm of your beloved when he starts to protest, not recognizing a gift when he sees one. You bow, the picture of poise and grace that you were raised to be. There is still time to leave with all of your limbs intact, you could not afford to slip up now.

“We offer our most sincere gratitude, my Lord na-Baron. Thank you for this most auspicious opportunity. We will not squander it.” 

Your beloved gives a clumsy bow to match yours. Feyd’s manic smile grows as he clasps his hands together. The sound echoes through the hall.

“So it shall begin!” 

But all alone his blood runs thin

And doubt—doubt comes in

The pair of you hold hands, side-by-side, at the entrance of the palace gates. A crowd has followed you to the edge, with onlookers from the outside spectating the unexpected appearance of a noble. Occurrences like this did not happen often, if ever.

“You heard the terms. The Lady must walk thirty steps behind. She must not speak to you.” Your hands reluctantly separate, following the orders you were given. You can feel your heart pounding with each step that you take away from each other.

“Some of my guard will accompany you, to ensure that you comply to the letter.” Four Harkonnen warriors step forward and encase you in a square formation, leaving the love of your life alone and vulnerable. He looks back towards you, fear and doubt creeping into his eyes. You nodded at him, believing that you could succeed in your task. That you would prevail.

“You may begin.” Feyd voices, and with that—you start your journey. Step by step, you walk further through the foliage that immediately surrounds the castle gates and into the city square.

Once you and your beloved reach the horizon, Feyd turns to walk past the crowd and back into the corridor.

Your father, the Duke, bows quickly and offers his gratitude, but is ignored as the younger Harkonnen goes to gather his blade and shield. With a yell, he summons his guards to formation. As Feyd checks the integrity of his weapon, one of the Baron’s advisors tentatively steps towards him.

“My Lord, perhaps you should consider letting them go—” In the blink of an eye, the man is silenced with a swift slash to the throat. Blood spills through the advisor’s hands as he struggles to put pressure on the opening. His body flops to the floor and Feyd carelessly steps over the writhing body to march forward.

“Let’s go fetch my bride.”

Dangerous this jack of hearts

It had been almost an hour of walking by this point. There had been almost a dozen times where you wanted to give any audible indication to your lover that you were here. A whisper, a whistle, a stomp of your foot. Anything. But now you could see the edge of the city, you could almost taste it. 

A life with your love was within reach. 

The guards accompanying you shifted inward, almost boxing you in. You were hopeful, but nerves were creeping in.

This was going well. Too well.

The grand arch signifying the edge of the city was above your lover now. The field that you used to meet at in secret lay just beyond it. You’re almost there. Just twenty more steps and you could be together, forever. 

He steps over the threshold, you see his shoulders lift and fall in an exhale. Then, the man you had fallen in love with— who you wholly believe in— slowly turns his head to lock eyes with you. A pale figure steps out from behind a pillar accompanying the arch.

The growing smile on your face immediately falls. You call out his name.

Oh no. 

The na-Baron tsked and shook his head, as if scolding a child. Harkonnen troops flanked the area, giving Feyd-Rautha enough berth to have his fun. The three of you were surrounded, but only one really had the advantage.

“You were so close!”

Your beloved held out a hand, “Wait, wait! I made it over!” He started to back away in fear, unarmed and exhausted from the long walk. Colorful, ripe foliage brushed his legs as he back into your field.

“Ah, but she didn’t. So, face the consequences.”

Then his blade pierced the man you love. 

Your ears started to ring, throat working itself raw as you wailed. Tears blurred your vision, you could hear the gurgles of the blood leaving your fiancé’s mouth and the slosh of his newly disemboweled entrails hitting the lush field before you.

With his kiss, the riot starts

His body made a sick thud on the floor, and your body jumped along with it. 

You ran towards your dead lover, cradling his face and sobbing for the soul that was just ripped away from you. He didn’t deserve such a violent end. His only crime was loving you and being loved in return.

A chuckle sounded from above you, and you turned your tear-stained face to the brutal Harkonnen. He was covered in the blood of your lover, his spoils of war staining his pale skin. Black teeth on full display, his shoulders gave a slight shake as he expressed his humor. His laughter sparked a rage in you like you’d never seen before. It didn’t matter what bonds you may or may not have formed over the conversations you had the last week. He’s a monster. He needs to pay for what he’s done. 

Red flooded your vision.

With a roar, you lunged for the man. His laugh grew more manic as you smacked, punched, kicked, and hit every visible part of him that you could identify. In your grief, every ounce of training that you received flew out the window. He took every blow with a smile, as if he enjoyed the punishment you were attempting to bestow on him.

“There we go, my darling. Show me your pain. Your rage!”

Your mind started to clear with the more hits you landed. With a quick swipe, you had the weapon that killed your beloved against the naBaron’s neck. The Harkonnen soldiers immediately stepped forward, but Feyd stopped them with a wave of his arm.

“Ah ah ah! Leave her be.” His grin almost split his face in half, specks of dried blood making a painting of his face. 

“Do it. Go ahead, come on.”

He pressed his neck forward, purposefully putting pressure on his own blade. Fresh blood started to trickle down his neck, adding to the gallons already spread all over his uniform. 

The shock of his willingness to put his life on the line made you hesitate, which made him cackle in your face. Your anger made you draw the blade back and slice it across his chest. A groan left Feyd’s mouth, 

“Good girl.”

An unexpected thunk to the head made your vision start to spin. Feyd’s arms braced around you, slowly lowering you to your knees and down to a lying position. He cradled your head as if you were a precious commodity, when he leaned forward and captured your limp lips with his. 

As black started swallowing your vision, you heard him say,

“Don’t worry, my darling bride. It’ll all be alright. You won’t feel a thing.”

[aphroditelovesu]

Can I request general headcanons for yandere Jacaerys Velaryon? ❤️

''You are my whole world.'' — Jacaerys Velaryon.

❝ 🐉 — lady l: I had this saved in my drafts for a while and only remembered after I got into it lol, it was practically finished. But anyway, I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes! I'm not going to lie, Jace was my favorite character in this second season.🥺

❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, overprotectiveness, mention of kidnapping and imprisonment, toxic relationships and perhaps a bit soft yandere.

❝🐉pairing: yandere!jacaerys velaryon x gender neutral!reader.

Jacaerys Velaryon is a born worshiper, deeply in love and devoted to his beloved. His feelings are pure and healthy at first; he desires only good, happiness and your security. However, the losses that occurred from the beginning of the Dance of Dragons affected him deeply. Over time, Jace becomes increasingly smothering and overprotective, reaching the point where your needs no longer matter, only your safety.

Jace just wants your good, your safety and your love. He's not sure when his feelings became so strong, he just knows he has to keep you protected at all costs. You have become the center of his world and he will be damned if he lets you be taken away from him. Not that he's going to let that happen.

He is so devoted and loyal, you will always be put first, your needs will be met beforehand and anything you want, he will do. He is yours to command, just as you are his to love and protect.

Jacaerys devotion transcends the limits of ordinary love. From the beginning, his affection is genuine and deep, a burning flame that illuminates every aspect of his life. He dedicates himself entirely to his darling, placing you at the center of his universe and shaping his actions and decisions around your well-being.

Jacaerys, if given the opportunity, will keep you trapped somewhere. He knows it's not ideal, but he's willing to do anything to not lose you, including locking you up somewhere safe that only he and people he trusts can access. He will deal with all your anger as long as you are unharmed.

Over time, Jace begins to show obsessive worry. He starts to watch your every step, always present and attentive as if any distraction could result in a tragedy. His intensity is palpable, and he becomes a constant presence, like a dragon that never rests and is always alert.

At first, it may seem like an expression of his deep love, but it quickly becomes apparent that his behavior is more than simple protection. He begins to isolate you from friends and family, believing that anyone could pose a threat. He argues that the world is too dangerous and that only he can guarantee your safety.

He will isolate you from everything and everyone so that you, in the end, trust and become completely dependent on him. Jace will feel guilty about this, especially when he looks into your eyes, but he can't help it. Just the thought of losing you is too much for him to handle.

Jace continues to treat you with extreme affection. He does everything to meet your needs, anticipating your desires and trying to compensate for your loss of freedom with displays of affection and dedication. He sincerely believes he is acting out of love, even though he realizes his behavior is suffocating you.

In addition to his overwhelming overprotectiveness, Jace is extremely possessive of you. Although he tries not to show off too much, he feels jealous very often and may become more harsh and controlling when this happens. He will never hurt you but he doesn't want to and won't accept being replaced or left in the background. You belong to him and only him.

Despite his growing possessiveness, Jace maintains an unwavering loyalty. He is willing to sacrifice anything, including his own happiness, to ensure the well-being of his beloved. His devotion manifests itself in an absolute commitment, where he puts your needs and desires in the background, always prioritizing your safety.

Jacaerys Velaryon has your desires in his heart and he wants your good and your happiness, but he is willing to sacrifice them for your safety. He knows it's not right, he's not that delusional, but the fear of losing you makes him make unconventional decisions. Jace will deal with whatever comes of these actions, as long as you are safe and alive. It will all be worth it as long as he sees you breathe.

[sherdnerd]

I stg if I see one more "Justice for medusa's TRUE story!" post I'm gonna kill someone.

(TW: Assault mention)

The medusa is assaulted by posidon then cursed by athena for being assaulted in her temple only appears in Ovid's Metamorphoses, which is written as a purposeful subversion of Greco-roman myths. most are reframed or rewritten from just kinda a thing that exists or a black and white moral tale of why you shouldn't be hubristic to full on tragedies on the part of the person often getting their comeuppance or the monster. Heck in book 13 we get a love story starring Polyphemus, the cyclops from the Odyssey.

In general mythology, Medusa is just another monster. Ovid revises the myth to turn it into a tragedy. I absolutely love ovid's work, he does so many clever things with the myths, but for the love of the gods its the furthest from the real version you can get

[ovtsakaramel]

Colors

Finnick Odair x fem!reader

TW: death, mentions of forced prostitution

note: tried to match some things to Colors by Halsey bc I listened to Badlands while writing it, probably didn't turn out perfect lol

You take a glass of wine from the waiter. The bittersweet, a little tart taste from the drink washes over your mouth. A wave of shiver goes through your body. You've always hated the Capitol parties, especially the more "classy" ones. All those people smiling and talking like they had no worry in the world. And they probably didn't. Not as much as you, at least.

You ran your fingers over your dress. Glittery and shiny, the lights mirrored on the black diamonds covering it. It made you shine, it made you be seen. The long dress was hugging your curves perfectly, leaving not a lot to the imagination. Normally you would like the way it made you look beautiful, but almost nothing in the Capitol makes you feel anything but dirty.

It was all too much. All the stares, all the flirts, all the disgusting Capitol people eyeing you like a piece of meat, like just a doll for their entertainment. You rushed to the door to the small balcony and opened it quietly. Hopefully no one would find you here. Just peace and quiet. Peace.

You light up a cigarette and look through the window. Being on the higher floors of a skyscraper, the balcony was pretty high. You could see the whole region, filled with even bigger buildings, windows lit up like second stars. You could hear people talking, mostly gossiping from the party, the cars outside and the crickets singing peacefully. You let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding.

"What you doing out here, Satan's spawn?" Finnick, the victor of the 65th Hunger Games comes behind you. You look him up and down. Today he was wearing more clothes than usual. A white button up, the upper buttons undone, and dark sea green pants, matching his eyes.

"Your stylist felt generous to land you some clothes this time?" You ask, pointing at him with your cigarette

"Yeah, lucky me. I had to get on my knees for this." He goes next to you, his back pushed to the railing. He takes a sip from his own wine. "Why aren't you at the party?"

"Even you need a break, imagine me. Just needed some peace and quiet, that's all. And you and your pretty face came to ruin even this." He chuckles and rolls his eyes

"That's what I'm here for. To drag you from the darkest place of depression to irritation."

"Yeah, and you're doing a damn good job." You chuckle back. Only if he knew how much he helped you. You may sometimes seem annoyed by him, but everytime he smirks and tries to anger you you relax, really relax. He's the only one who could make you feel like the games didn't happen. Like Snow didn't happen. Like... You didn't happen. At least not the most of you.

"Are you doing well? I heard about your little tragedy..." Ha. Little tragedy. Everyone you loved was dead. Snow invited you to his office one day. Offered you to please his precious Capitol elite, for the price of keeping your loved ones. You said no. You couldn't give him the satisfaction that he had some control over you. He, in fact, has. But you could at least pretend. The very next day you were alone. Your family members bodies were still in your house, their throats slitted. Some of their eyes were still open. It was quite the sight to come home to.

"I'm... Just gonna deal with it. I still can't believe that they're actually dead. I feel like my parents are going to lecture me any minute now about how I dress like a slut, or how I look demonic. And that my baby brother will crawl on top of me to pull my hair and spit on me." You shake your glass. The dark liquid looks sweeter.

"I know you didn't have the best relationship with your parents, but they were still family... I'm sorry."

"It would have been worse if I said yes. Not all of us are that strong to deal with it. And you sure are. If I was in your place, I'd probably kill myself." You trow the cigarette out the balcony. "Hope it falls on top of some Capitolites head..." You think to yourself. They could at least get their wigs burnt if they were gonna torture you.

"Very encouraging." He smiles. His white teeth shine in the darkness. His smile was one of the most comforting things. Not the fake flirtatious smirk he pulled for the Capitol. But his genuine, sarcastic warm smile. It could make you giggle, it make you melt. His smiles were the best drug you've encountered on. Fuck morphling, fuck cocaine. Finnick Odairs smile was what you needed.

You two stand there in silence for a while. The wind blows into your hairs and his loose shirt as you both stare at the moon. It was one of those beautiful full moons where the moon is a bright fiery orange. It had found a place between two tall buildings, peeking from them as if to stare at you. But the moon wasn't like the Capitol. It's eyes didn't make you feel like they knew all of your secrets, every thought you were having, stripping you down to your most intimate pieces of self just with a glance. It's eyes were like a shield from the Capitols. It's fiery color made you feel warm and safe and at home, even though the cold night air and party behind you weren't very cozy.

"It has ways been weird to me how in one second someone could be alive and then the other: gone" he looks at you, the half empty glass in his hand holding on for dear life on the tips of his fingertips.

"Right? What's the meaning of life anyway if you're gonna just die... Like yeah, your children and their children, but you'd be dead. You won't feel the happieness in seeing them happy. You wouldn't even know they're happy. You'd be dead. Nothing would matter. All of this life, gone, just for nothing." His words felt like a deep exhale after holding your breath for years for both of you. You wanted to know that you didn't weird him out and he was like he wanted to talk for so long.

"Why are we even continuing living? Just for the sake of it? Bc maybe tomorrow nothing would matter. We reproduce but the children we make are also going to die one day. And why are we doing things to keep ourselves alive, going through so much pain. Just to keep something we're gonna loose anyways." A pause "When you think about it... Maybe it's not that bad."

"What?" He looked at you, his brows furrowing. His lips parted a bit on the middle, the little wrinkles he got looked cute.

"Killing. It's just death, you know? It was gonna happen anyways. For the person that died it won't matter. They'd be dead. And for their close ones... They're also gonna die one day."

"It's just... Disturbing and dehumanizing. It's bad. Sometimes it feels like we're brainwashed to think it's bad but thinking that you can just discard a life like that, someone who also thinks and feels it's just... It's just sick. No matter if it doesn't have consequences. The fact that someone could do it with no remorse at all, to play God, to think... That they're that important. When it's just sick and twisted." Your eyes met his and he looked away. You look down and he looks back at you, trying to find your eyes again. His eyes were your favorite part of him. They're the most beautiful sea green you've seen... Like all different shades of green but navy on the ends. A little yellow that makes them even greener somehow. Like you were looking at the ocean. Bringing a sense of warmth and a sense of refresh in the same time. The little pieces of very light colour looked like seafoam. It was like waves are actually crushing in his eyes.

"You're right. Some things are just bad, no matter how much you try to normalize them. No matter how much you think it's not that deep... Even if it will all end, just bringing pain is bad. Even if it won't matter and it will be all erased, just for one second bringing something, some feeling like that to someone. It's bad. It's... Just gross." He chuckles. You weren't sure if there was humor in it.

You empty your glass. You watch as Finnick does the same and how the liquid goes inside of him, going through his throat and his Adams apple moving as he swallows. He exhales through his mouth and put the glass on the window. You roll around yours in your fingers, tapping on it with the black nails and then leave it there too.

"Are you could?" He asks, looking you up and down. But not in a weird way. His gaze felt more like protection than danger. Liked the moon that always matched his hair color.

"I'm fine" you say, but he can see how you rub your arms and how you flinch a little when you don't move for some time. He takes off his jacket and puts it on your shoulders. It smells like cinnamon. You expected it to smell like some Capitol perfume that stinks of chemicals, but it smelled like cinnamon. Like Finnick. Most people would expect he smells like the perfumes or salt water. Yeah, he did smell like salt water in district 4. Everyone you knew from there had that little pinch on sea in their natural scent. But Finnick smelled like cinnamon. It was warm and cozy, but still playful. You inhale his scent and almost melt. He moves closer to you. You look at him. He looks lost. He looks blue. You also looked blue. You also looked lost. How could you live without your friends and family? You felt something creeping up on you. You felt all eyes on you, you felt tired and... Pointless. Grey. You felt them in your hair. Creeping up from the stress. Maybe they'll turn into whites. Maybe you'll look like Snow. Maybe you'll be as happy as Snow. Maybe you will rip and not be ripped. Maybe the grey from your smoke will draw a masterpiece on the dark night sky. Maybe that overwhelm will go away. Maybe you'll die.

"No you won't." Finnick says, cold as the air. Unintentionally you said all of this out loud. The anxiety dig it's nails deeper in you and you wanted to scream out the balcony and fall from it. Hoping you'd fall on some Capitolite and kill them. "We may act... Rivalry with each other. But... You bring me comfort. It brings me comfort when we talk with no mocking and just... Talk. It's a nice rest. Your voice is telling me that there are others that don't feel normal. That aren't normal."

"I did not find any sense in your words. But somehow I get them."

"Things maybe don't have to make sense to be ours."

"You don't make sense." You say as a joke and chuckle, you didn't mean to hurt him. As he just stared behind you you apologized. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean t- "

"Then I am completely yours." He said staring at your lips. Desperation was found in both of yours eyes. You both were sad, drank... Well, maybe you drank ymtoo much earlier and you're drunk. You could see in his lost gaze that he is too. Nothing had sense. Neither death, neither why you liked teasing him so much. Neither why you stared at his lips too. Neither why no sense had more sense. Why you two went close enough to feel your bodies touch. Why talking deep with him made everything a little more clear, like a raindrop on a foggy car window. Still blurred but at least now there were colors. Why you licked your lips. There was no sense in why-

Your lips found each other instantly and he grabbed your waist gently but passionately. Your arms wrapped around his neck clumsy but still enough to push his tongue to yours. You felt his warmth, his taste, all of them freeing you from the dark feeling of loss and grief. The sink left overflowing with your mothers body on the bathroom floor. You never saw her smile if it wasn't for others to see she was ok, which no one believed she was. Your little brother who you never appreciated ("Who appreciates a baby?" you thought when he was born and your parents didn't even ask you how you were after your games), sitting in his feeding chair, the light coming through the window and lighting up his face. Wishing you'd forgive him for just existing. Your father who you always lied to, who made you who you are. But he decided that color was not for him so he just yelled. Your blue jeans stained with their blood. You could have kept them if you just decided to take them off. But you took the right decision. Always keep yourself. But now the lips on yours made you wanna keep them and their saturated hope brought back the color in you. Color drained and lost from the lost of their blood. But Finnick's taste filled that white spot.

You two drifted apart for a breath and the emptiness came back again.

"Are you sure?" You asked him. You didn't want a nod, you didn't need silence. You needed his warm voice to fill the void.

"I'm sure. My room?" You nodded. Hypocrite.

You layed back down, exhausted. Your head rested on his chest,the skin to skin contact of your bodies making you overheat but too addictive to let go of. For a moment, you felt full. Full of love. Full of life. Full of warmth.

[trincketbox]

Jason Todd as a Trans (ftm) allegory

Written by me, a trans man

[this edit was made by me, original picture it's Dan Mora's sketch]

TW gender disphoria, (implied) transphobia.

Im not saying his story was written with this perspective in mind, Im saying *death of the author (*the reinterpretation of artistic creations by the public both as a community and aa individuals, and how this goes far beyond the creator's original message on mind) is a very real thing.

This narrative resonated with me, a trans man, and my experience as such. Maybe out there is another transmasc person who caught themselves invested in this character the same way as I, and maybe they'll read this post and be happy to found out they're not alone on these feelings.

Without further addue, let's begin.

The second Robin, and the feeling of not fitting

Every trans person first memory of perceiving oneself as somehow different (and how) it's particular to each.

Some realize pretty young, some older. Some always have this lingering feeling of not belonging but become conscious of it later in life.

This feeling its present trough all of Jason's life. First, when he first arrives at the Manor. Later, when he starts operating as Robin. Then when Tim "replaces him", and so on.

Usually labelled as the black lamb of the family.

Tragedy is always, first, born off love

Jason's death and resurrection is written as a tragedy (no shit, Sherlock). But there, to be a tragedy, there has to be hope first. There has to be love.

Now, this varies from version to version, but a general consence is that Jason Todd was loved by Bruce Wayne, regardless of how much their relationship might change and twist on the future; Jason Todd was a good kid, regardless of how he might be portrayed as recless. He was a traumatized, angry kid who wanted to make things better. Who wished for bad guys to not hurt people anymore. Who wished to change the system for better, and took the matter on his own hands both as a child and as a young adult.

This

This right here

Was a loved, brave, bold, sensitive, mischievous, smart child who would latter come back like this:

Demanding justice, demanding damnation for al the pain he went through, demanding retaliation to the monster that set him off this world.

And all these requests fell to the ears of Bruce Wayne, Batman. The man who took him in as a scared, bold litte child that beated him in the cold of the night in the alley where his parents died. He stole his car tires, he's a child and he stole his car tires and he made Batman laugh.

That Perception doesn't change with his rise from the dead.

What changes is Bruce's view of him now.

Now, this depends on the writer, but on the start of Jason's "coming back to Gotham to fight Bruce" arc, there is the accusation of him coming back wrong.

Of him being better before

Of something being wrong with him since the start.

The implications of his physical change as wrong in comparation to his younger self.

I find Jason's body dismorphia due to The Lazarus Pit™ very interesting,but in this case Im not referring to it as a comparation with body disphoria (even through, he does get the feeling of your body changing in ways out of your control and the trauma that surrounds it).

Im talking about Bruce's view on all of this.

Luckily, if you're trans and had supportive parents, you won't know these things by first hand experience, but many, many people do.

And Jason gets it.

Jason Todd its womanhood™ coded

This is, partially, one of th main reasons why his fanbase consists on a large part of fangirls.

Repressed rage upon the injustices you go through all your life, and once the last drop falls, said rage is weaponized. Seen as dirty, as over the top, as dangerous.

Your older self being compared to your younger self, being asked (directly or indirectly) where that sweet child™ went.

Being striped away from your body autonomy (murder, torture, resurrection against his will, whatever is going on in Batman Gotham War).

Being labeled as the most sensitive. Sometimes in a good light, sometimes not.

The burning weight of still loving parental figures that hurted you.

Topping it all, it's implied through many instances he's a feminist (yes, Im aware this is also heavily influenced by fanon interpretations of the character, but you can't deny it's still heavily implied).

All of these issues almost universal (however not exclusive) to AFAB people life experience.

There is this recognition in these wounds. "He gets it", you feel, he gets it.

He gets it in a similar way transmasc individual have an undeniable insight of these issues. He gets it in a way that feels genuine, familiar, personal.

Lastly but nor least important,

He gives me gender™ vibes. That's it, that's the argument

Over all, Jason Todd its a multifaceted, complex character. He's morally grey, his temperament ranging and mutating with each reinterpretation. Some core issues stick, others don't.

I do not hold the one and only right interpretation of this character.

We can al agree, nevertheless, that even through he's not canonically trans,

Jason todd would be a great trans ally, fighting by our side, in name of our rights, our pain but also our pride.

For that's what heroes do.

[shesboundtobruise]

ANYTHING TO FEEL SOMETHING OTHER THAN THIS….

          She had become a cliché…

Louise Wolfe always had an urge to be more, different, maybe even unique, but as she held him, his sweaty forehead pressed to her bare shoulder, groans escaping his mouth in rapid succession, she couldn’t help but allow the thought to sink in: She turned out to be just another teenage girl losing her virginity to a boy she knew most of her life up on that bluff overlooking the city. How many others from her hometown had done that very thing? Twenty, fifty, a hundred? Had any of them planned it? Did they hope driving up there meant they’d come back different somehow? She didn’t FEEL different herself, just… Slightly sore, unsatisfied, and frankly, a bit numb emotionally. The experience wasn’t anything that she imagined it would be, and certainly not nearly as enjoyable. Beyond that, it didn’t accomplish what she’d hoped it would and that was the greatest disappointment…….

They sat on the hood of her car, talking, or rather, he spoke a bit, tried to encourage her to open up about what was going on in her head as they shared a bottle of Jack Daniels, and when she grew tired of refusing, she kissed him, really to shut him up more than anything. The kissing turned passionate, heated, all fire and such, but that wasn’t why she went all the way. She didn’t really know why for certain, but she had a hunch. Even as Shaun plowed on, toward his finish, with little regard of hers, she still hadn’t fully decided why. Was it a distraction, albeit a shitty one? To work out her frustrations? Was it because she was so hell-bent on rebelling against her father that she USED the boy? What would her mother think of her now?

As he pulled away and started to clean himself up, mumbling a few things she wasn’t even paying attention to, she hopped off the hood, fixing her skirt, finding her underwear and realizing he’d torn them. Even as he kept talking, her mind was elsewhere; ignoring the tightness of unrelieved tension and replacing it with concern over the paint job on the car, or what to do with the useless panties now in her pocket, or whether or not she’d actually try this sex thing with him again… or if it was even worth it to begin with.

She drove him home in silence and offered him her cheek when he leaned in to kiss her goodnight. She didn’t want pleasantries or for him to believe she required that sort of thing. What she needed was to get a hold of some Plan B before she became a statistic as well.